Disruption
by Escriba
Summary: An AU for the third season that was created by the question "what if T'Pol had agreed to marry Koss and left the Enterprise?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't own Star Trek or Enterprise or its characters. In fact, there is a piece of the dialogue that is part of the chapter "The Expanse" and belongs to its authors. No, I'm not making money with this. Yes, it's just for fun. Is this the definition for "fanfiction"? Yes, it is.

**Author****'s note:** This is an alternative third season (or that's the intention, I'm just in the first chapter). The story begins with a rewritten "The Expanse". And the spark for all this is a "what if?": "What if T'Pol had agreed to marry Koss in "Breaking the Ice" and left Enterprise?" Oh, by the way, English it's not my native language, so any help that can improve my English is welcome. Feedback is welcome too.

**Thanks:** to JustTrip, _Correcteur exceptionnel._

* * *

Archer was anxiously waiting outside Forrest's office. This wasn't saying a lot, as Jonathan Archer was restless by nature and had an inquisitive demeanour.

But with the tension, there was something more: anger. A silent fury under his skin. He _knew_ Vulcans would find a final argument against their plans to chase the Xindi through the Expanse. He _knew_ they would be all about "no interference" and "human recklessness" and all that "Vulcan logic" bullshit. And he _knew_ that one of the strongest supporters against _Enterprise'_s mission would be his own First Officer. Archer was sure he kept a record with all Humans' mistakes and he would recite them, just to make his point. It was in moments like those when Archer missed T'Pol. It was ironic. Yes, she was a super-critical, super-logical ice queen and a pain in the ass, but she could be persuaded and even convinced sometimes. Her replacement, instead, was . . . Well, how to describe Muroc in one word? Ah, yes . . .

A jerk.

He made T'Pol look soft, nice and understanding. Muroc turned _Enterprise'_s troublesome voyages even more problematic. Their rescue by Shran in Coridan? The Andorian almost left them there, just because Muroc couldn't keep his mouth shut. Poor Trip, who was the one who went with the Vulcan, was still sore because of that mission. He hated Muroc before, but after that day he couldn't stand him. Oh, and not to mention that incident with V'Lar. They were _this close_ to leaving the Ambassador in Mazarites' hands. It took V'Lar's curiosity about Hoshi's fear of the Vulcans to make her confess her real mission. Muroc wasn't any help at all. OK, OK, that was a little unfair. If it weren't for his distrust of the Vahklas' crew, those _V'tosh ka'tur,_ things would have been a little harder. At least, he rescued Hoshi from Tolaris before he could do something worse. But Muroc didn't save Travis…

Oh, how it hurt. Above all, knowing that Muroc wasn't really responsible for that one. _All_ of them were affected by the trinary system's radiation and none of them moved a finger to rescue Travis, to stop Phlox before he performed a lobotomy on him. But even then . . . Even then . . . Archer had the feeling that with anybody else other than Muroc the tragedy would have been prevented. With T'Pol, for example. But T'Pol was gone, married to some stud on Vulcan. And Muroc _was_ his First Officer, in spite of everything.

At least, he was for the time being. After this meeting, who knew?

Archer had made his point clear. He was going into the Expanse. But Soval wanted to show some "data" to him. What could it be? A map with the sign "Here be Dragons"? Before meeting with Archer, Soval had called Muroc, and the two of them along with Forrest were inside his office. Archer had been waiting for twenty-five minutes. Muroc's record of human errors must be _long._

A crack from the door interrupted his thoughts. Admiral Forrest came into view. His face was somber.

"Captain, you can enter."

Archer furrowed his brow, but said nothing. The office was dark and a TV screen was on. Archer sensed more people behind his back, near the exit, but he didn't turn around. Probably they were just some of Soval's aides.

"You wanted to see me," Archer talked before being addressed. He saw Soval stiffening and suppressed a satisfied smile.

"Yes, Captain," Forrest answered. He didn't look very happy with his attitude. "Ambassador Soval wanted to show us a… graphical archive."

"It is a record of the whereabouts of the Vaankara's crew," Soval explained.

"The Vaankara?" Archer asked.

"It _was_ a Vulcan ship," Soval said. He looked at Muroc for one second, then his attention returned to Archer. "It was sent in a mission into the Delphic Expanse," Soval made a pause. "It was _destroyed."_

Archer couldn't believe this. Were the Vulcans trying to do their own "urban legend" attempt?

"With all due respects Admiral, what is the point of me watching this?" Archer asked, a little smug. "Is it supposed to frighten me, make me change my mind about commanding this mission?"

Soval stood in front of him.

"It's important for you to see what you'll be facing," The Ambassador explained. "The Vaankara was in the Delphic Expanse for less than two days when we received a distress call. This transmission arrived six hours later."

The Ambassador turned the video on. Images of Vulcans screaming, fighting, _killing._ Archer was surprised to see Vulcans act so violently against each others. Then he felt uneasy. And at last he felt sick.

"Less than an hour later the Vaankara was destroyed. There was no indication of a malfunction or an attack," Soval said emotionlessly.

"Are you suggesting the crew was responsible?" Archer asked and felt a little stupid, because it was obvious those were Vulcans killing other Vulcans.

"I'm suggesting you reconsider this mission," Soval said.

Archer wanted to scream. Had Soval learnt nothing? Had he really expected that Humans would sit up there and do nothing after being attacked? Was he so _dense_?

"You should listen to the Ambassador's advice," Muroc said.

Archer looked at him, venom in his gaze. The Vulcan Sub-Commander stood in a faultless poise as tall as he was. His face was a mask of perfect stoicism.

"You agree, of course," Archer said. It wasn't a question. After Muroc's lack of support in the Paraagan incident, the Captain knew where Muroc's loyalties stood.

"It is the logical conclusion."

"And you'll come in this mission, although your opinion differs from mine?"

Muroc actually swivelled, just a millimetre.

"I've been ordered to stay on Earth and I don't see any logical reason to do otherwise."

"No, I suppose you don't," Archer murmured ironically. He stared at Muroc hoping to get a look of shame. Or _any_ emotional look for that matter. It didn't work, of course. "So this is all the help we can expect from our _allies,_" he asked, this time to Soval.

"We have made our position clear and we have been disregarded," the Ambassador said.

"Earth needs all the help you can give us."

"I fail to see how we can be of any help."

Archer wanted to shout "advanced Warp technology could be a beginning" but instead he answered:

"You Vulcans have more knowledge of the Expanse than we do!"

"Nobody has much knowledge about the Expanse, Captain."

Archer didn't have any other option. He hated it, but it was necessary. For _Earth._

"I don't have time to search for another Science Officer. And besides…" Archer swallowed hard. "Muroc is the best in all Starfleet."

"But he _isn't_ part of Starfleet," Soval reminded.

Archer suppressed a homicidal flash.

"He is just a Vulcan. I'm sure you can spare just _one_ Vulcan."

Soval's demeanour changed. He looked a little sad and even … frustrated.

"These are the High Command's orders," he said, his voice tense. "No Vulcan member of the High Command can disobey its instructions."

"And some other Vulcan? One who isn't a member…"

"I'm sorry Captain, but no Vulcan will defy the High Command. No Vulcan will go with you."

"I will," a soft voice said.

All the men looked at the back of the room from which the voice had emerged. Archer was flabbergasted to meet T'Pol's calm features and her resolute gaze.

"I will go with you," she repeated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Enterprise is not mine. No, really. I didn't write "The Expanse". You have to believe me. So, all rights reserved to the people who actually did.

**Author's note:** OK, so I made a miscalculation. I didn't remember that in "The Expanse" Archer said that it took _seven_ weeks to arrive at the Delphic Expanse. So it's going to take some time till I can rewrite "The Xindi". But, I'll have more time for the characters' interactions, _and_ I won't have to "borrow" more dialogue from "The Expanse", so it's not so bad.

I haven't written Trip with an accent because, frankly, I can't. English not being my native language makes that I can write T'Pol better than Trip. So, any correction will be welcome. As always, feedback will be welcome too (tell me what you think about the characters' personalities in this AU.)

**Thanks:** To justTrip'n, of course.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Archer blinked, opened his mouth, looked doubtful, closed his mouth, blinked and opened his mouth again.

"Sub-Commander T'Pol," he said at last.

"Lieutenant Commander T'Pol." She corrected.

Archer grimaced. _Ouch!_ he thought.

"You were saying . . . you're prepared to be part of my crew?" He didn't like to look uncertain, but he wasn't sure he was in his right mind. All this seemed so . . . unlikely.

"Those were my words, yes," she said. For a moment Archer thought he had seen a shadow of an amused smile on her lips. "If you don't mind, of course," she added.

"Of course . . ." he murmured. Then he got his composure back. "I mean . . . No, I don't mind at all. Your . . . _help_… is welcome."

T'Pol nodded her head politely.

"I'll wait for your instructions," she said.

Archer shrugged and turned toward Forrest while Soval looked at T'Pol with the most severe gaze that a Vulcan could achieve.

"Is there anything else, sir?" Archer asked.

The Admiral shook his head. The Captain left the room with the feeling that somebody had moved the floor under him.

T'Pol was back! It was unbelievable, shocking, amazing . . . frightening.

* * *

The nocturnal air was hot and soft, but there was a humidity unknown on Vulcan.

T'Pol liked it.

Soval was ahead of her. She could sense he was disturbed. He has taken her announcement that she was going with Archer on his mission as a challenge. She had returned to San Francisco for two weeks now, thanks to his influence, and her desire to abandon everything had to be a shock.

T'Pol understood that. But she didn't care.

"It is my decision," she said to him, to the night, to the universe.

Soval didn't answer. He was observing the metallic Earth globe outside the Fleet Operations Center. T'Pol noticed he was looking at Florida.

"This is not a matter of choice," he said at last.

T'Pol clenched her fists. An automatic but very un-Vulcan gesture.

"Indeed. There is no choice at all."

"You'll loose everything you have achieved."

"They need our help."

Soval straightened his shoulders as if to put himself on guard. He exhaled. T'Pol thought that would be all, but then he turned and walked toward her.

"Defying the High Command would mean immediate dismissal," he said in front of her.

"You were the one who told me that it was crucial to place a Vulcan on _Enterprise._"

"You were there to provide logic, but logic can't help them inside the Delphic Expanse."

"Are you certain?"

"You have watched the graphic video." Soval sighed again as if he were about to loose his patience. "The Expanse is _extremely_ dangerous."

T'Pol lifted her chin and feigned security.

"But maybe that's what you want," Soval said. "If the Expanse is dangerous enough, you will perish there and you won't have to return to Vulcan."

It took all her will to prevent looking shocked. Soval had always known her too well. Even in those moments when she didn't know herself. She felt cold under the heavy robes.

"Have you thought about what will happen if you don't die and you come back instead?" Soval asked acidly. "With your record, the least that the High Command will do will be to exile you."

Her _record._ She had done everything they wanted: leaving _Enterprise_ and marrying Koss, being a good wife, letting them blame her for the incident at P'Jem and reduce her rank, accepting an administrative job in spite of her scientific background . . . Anything they wanted, _anything_ that occurred to them, and still it wasn't enough. She couldn't understand _why._ All her life had been a perpetual test of her suitability as a Vulcan. Her father had died because of that. And it wasn't enough.

She was tired of trying to be logical in an illogic world.

"The Enterprise needs a Science Officer with experience who could work with the crew. I fulfil all the requirements."

"The cost is too high."

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," she recited.

Soval nodded, an almost sad smile on his lips. It was ironic that she won the argument to break Vulcan custom using the most sacred of Vulcan teachings.

* * *

Hoshi was experiencing contradictory feelings. Then again, she was a walking contradiction. The shy crew member who was the speaker for _Enterprise._. The cosmonaut who hated space trips. The woman who feared Vulcans yet had a Vulcan friend.

Well, sort of.

She wasn't sure he was her friend. She wasn't sure if she _wanted_ to be his friend.

All her life she had thought Vulcans were, if not emotionless, yes very logical and restrained. Something like robots. But after Tolaris she knew better. She knew they were a very violent and very dangerous species. They were living weapons. They were the monster under the children's bed, ready to jump when the light was off.

Hoshi still had nightmares about Tolaris. She retched anytime she smelled candles, which was usual at Muroc's cabin. It wasn't as if she had visited it a lot or anything. . . . Just sometimes. With very logical and very plausible reasons. He was a Vulcan, yes, but he was the Vulcan who had rescued her from Tolaris. Besides, Muroc was the most Vulcanish Vulcan you could get. He was cold, logical and as emotional as a brick. Hoshi discovered she liked that. She liked someone unable to get exasperated—at least, in the "I'm going to hit you and rape you" way.

She felt sick and had to stop.

The corridor was dark and cold. It reminded her of her soul. She breathed. In and out, in and out, in and out . . . Like Phlox had taught her. Like Muroc had taught her.

Hoshi recovered and walked toward her destination.

Muroc exited his cabin just when she was several steps from it. He noticed her immediately and turned toward her. Hoshi sighed and resumed her pace until she stood in front of him.

"Sub-Commander Muroc."

"Ensign Sato."

"I've come to . . . say farewell to you."

Muroc nodded. He repositioned his bag, as if about continue on his way.

"I hope . . . your next post will be . . . _agreeable,_" she said desperately.

"Expecting future personal satisfaction in a job is illogical."

Hoshi shrugged, a little disappointed.

"However," he added, "I appreciate your good wishes."

Muroc nodded again and turned away.

"I was thinking . . ." Hoshi said. Muroc looked at her. "I was wondering if I . . . It's going to be a dangerous journey and I'm sure the communications will suffer in the Expanse, but . . . I was wondering if I could write to you. I'm sure you'll like to hear about our adventures. From a scientific point of view."

Muroc meditated about the request.

"I see no problems on that," he answered.

"Great. Mmmm… I don't want to hold you back. Just saying that it's been a plea— honour to serve with you."

She did the _ta'al._ Muroc straightened up and did the Vulcan salute as well.

"It has been an honour to serve with you too. You are an example for your species." A dubitative light crossed his eyes, but he made up his mind in the end. "Take care, Ensign Sato, and be careful with unknown males."

With that last sentence, Muroc turned again and walked away. He disappeared behind the corridor's turn.

Hoshi sighed. She felt like a teenager who had been lectured by her father.

A minute later, a stranger loomed up out of the same corner. Hoshi jumped. The stranger stopped and looked at her with a curious expression. The stranger was a woman, so Hoshi relaxed. A Vulcan woman, Hoshi noticed, who was tilted to her left because of a big bag that seemed to be carrying half of her planet inside.

_It has to be the mysterious new Science Officer,_ Hoshi thought. _Her face looks familiar . . ._ And it was then when it hit her.

_No way . . _

* * *

Archer filled Trip's glass again. He was trying to find a way to bring up the subject of T'Pol.

"This is nice," Trip said.

"Huh?"

"It' been long time since we could sit up and drink. Just the two of us," he explained pointing at Archer and at himself. "Without "the Jerk"."

Archer nodded but said nothing.

"Speaking of which . . . Have you chosen another Science Officer?" Trip asked.

_Here we go . . ._ "In fact, yes. And in the most incredible way, I must add." He cleared his throat. "I didn't even need to search for one."

"So Admiral Forrest chose an officer himself?"

"No . . ."

"Because, you know, I'm sure any Starfleet member would _pay_ to be part of the _Enterprise._" Trip showed a sour smile. "Vulcans, in the other hand, would pay to leave her."

"It's funny you mention that . . ."

"Thank God I'm not going to see another one here!"

"I wouldn't go that far."

Trip looked at Archer with a dark shadow in his blue eyes. "What does that mean?"

_In for a penny, in for a pound._

"Our new Science Officer is a Vulcan."

"What? You told me they didn't even want us chasing the Xindi."

"And they didn't. In fact, the High Command has forbidden any Vulcan to help us."

"But then. . ."

"She has defied the High Command at her own risk."

Trip almost smiled.

"She? So it's a female Vulcan."

Archer cleared his throat again and said: "_The_ Vulcan female."

Trip was about to take another sip when Archer said that. The glass stopped midway. Trip squinted at his Captain. Five seconds later his eyes opened with a stunned glint in them.

"Tell me you're kidding."

"I wish I was . . . "

Trip left his glass on the table. His astonishment had become anger.

"T'Pol? _Fricking_ T'Pol? "Ice Queen" T'Pol? The one who left us in the lurch to marry some idiot on Vulcan?"

Archer grimaced. He had forgotten how Trip came to resent T'Pol's choice.

"Oh, come on Trip, she's not so bad."

"Compared to who?"

"She's better than Muroc."

"A _damn_ wall is better than Muroc!"

"See?"

Trip fumed with anger. He folded his arms, a stubborn scowl on his face.

"I'm not going to be nice to her."

"OK," the Captain agreed.

"And I'm not going to accept orders from her!"

"You won't have to. _She_ will accept orders."

"Excuse me?"

"She isn't a Sub-Commander anymore. She is a Lieutenant Commander now."

"What? Why?"

Archer smiled. Trip was able to go from anger to curiosity at light speed.

"I didn't ask," the Captain confessed. "Besides, I'm not sure she'd tell me, you know how Vulcans are."

Trip clenched his jaw until his teeth creaked. "And tell me this isn't just a dirty plot from the Vulcans to assure their noninterference crap," he asked with such intensity in his voice that Archer felt his fury burning inside. "Tell me we'll find the people who did this and that when we do, we won't be tiptoeing around."

"We'll do what we have to do, Trip. Whatever it takes."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Enterprise and its characters aren't mine and I'm not making money with this.

**Author's note:** After reading this chapter I know what you're going to say: "Where's the banter?" Well, I miss it too, and I wanted to write it, but Narrative Logic said: "No, stick at the plot." So we'll have to wait.

**Thanks: **to justTrip'n, who edits kindly, nicely and perfectly.

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

"You're perfectly healthy," Phlox concluded.

T'Pol nodded. The doctor noticed she was trying her best to not to peek at his padd.

"However," he added, a little more seriously, "there is a slight weight loss since your last checkup." He looked at her sternly. "Is your diet adequate?"

T'Pol showed her "I'm tempted to lie" expression, as Phlox liked to call it. Her eyes seemed to take up half of her face. After three second of doubt, she sighed.

"I've been neglecting some meals these last few days," she confessed. "I didn't think it would have any repercussion on my Vulcan physiology."

"I'd risk saying there've been more than a few missed meals, _doctor,_" he pointed out.

"I've been extremely busy."

Phlox just stared. She bowed her head.

"Perfect!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "Your tests are clean and, as long as you make sure to eat properly, I can give my approval to your entry into the active duty."

It was a rather pointless affirmation because T'Pol had begun to work on _Enterprise_ the third second after she's arrived. Somebody had to manage the Science station while the Klingons were attacking.

T'Pol got off the biobed with her usual precise motions.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to come here," she complained in her emotionless voice. "As I've said I've been very busy."

"Oh, don't worry, Lieutenant Commander, I understand." He gave her an encouraging smile. "So, how's everything been?"

T'Pol arched a brow, unsure.

"Have you gotten used to ship life again?" he explained. "The routine, the meals, the crew . . ."

"Quite. _Enterprise_ hasn't changed so much. My work is the same as I had when I was here last. Chef hasn't improved much on Vulcan dishes and for the crew…" She paused. "The crew is as professional as I remembered."

"Do you get on well with them?" Phlox asked, a little suspicious.

"Quite well. They're Human," she added immediately, as if she had to give excuses. "I've seen no changes in the relationship that the old crewmembers had with me, and as for the new crewmembers . . ." She looked at him, a little unsure. "The new crewmembers are very qualified; as much as the ones they replace."

Phlox played with the hypospray while he remembered the late Ensign Travis. But he recovered soon. What's done is done.

He smiled.

"So you are content with your decision to come with us?"

"Vulcans have no regrets," she recited.

Phlox blinked. Interesting, he hadn't meant that exactly.

"Does your . . . husband agree with you about the decision?"

T'Pol tensed.

"I can make my own choices. He knows that."

Phlox decided not to pressure her further. Marriages were complicated. _That_ he knew.

"Well, I'm glad you're getting used to our little ship." He said, changing the subject. "A great part of my rapid reacclimation is due to your correspondence during my absense. It was very kind of you to spend part of your time writing letters to me."

"Oh, nonsense, nonsense!" he played it down. "I was glad to. It helped to clear my mind, and was refreshing to receive news from places other than _Enterprise_."

"I doubt my letters were very _refreshing. _We Vulcans don't distinguish ourselves by being entertaining."

"You underestimate your own talent. As a Vulcan scientist, your insightful observations were of great help."

T'Pol made the closest thing to a shrug a Vulcan could perform. She was smart, sharp and bold most of the time, above all in her work. But giving her a personal compliment always seemed to make her a little shy . . . especially since her return.

"I missed your correspondence when some letters were returned to me."

"My apologies, I should have notified you of my new address at the Vulcan Compound on Earth, but it happened so suddenly…"

"No need to apologize, Lieutenant Commander. I know how distracting a move can be. The only thing I regret is that I couldn't tell you the latest news about the ship and its crew."

"Now that I'm assigned to this vessel I'm certain those information gaps will be filled in naturally."

"Yes, I'm sure, but might be best if I also alert you to some little details."

T'Pol stared at him with her head slightly cocked.

"Have you seen Commander Tucker?"

"No, in fact I've been—"

The door opened with its characteristic quick swish. Commander Tucker in person strode on through.

He almost collided against the numb T'Pol.

"Sub— _Lieutenant Commander_ T'Pol," he hummed in a sardonic singsong.

"Commander Tucker." Her voice could have served to sand down walls.

"I'm afraid I have to welcome you."

And then, without waiting for an answer, he turned his back on her to face Phlox. The Denobulan noticed that although T'Pol didn't change her expression, she swallowed.

"If you don't want anything more, doctor, I should return to my work," T'Pol said in a whisper.

"Yes, of course, Lieutenant Commander."

Phlox watched as she left the room with her back so rigid that he feared spinal damage.

"Well, what's your emergency, Commander?" the doctor asked with a somewhat sour voice.

"I need some sedatives, Doc."

"Commander, I prescribed a dose yesterday."

"I know, I know, but I need to rest and I couldn't get to sleep so . . "

Phlox sighed, and then looked at the door and at the Commander again.

He didn't like it the slightest bit.

* * *

Malcolm saw Lieutenant Commander T'Pol getting out the turbolift and walking toward her station. He noticed her precise motions and her usually aloof face. Malcolm was good at observing his surrounding and the Vulcan was a very curious object of research. So he had often studied her before she left the ship, and now that she was back, his observations became more interesting.

For example, she was a Lieutenant Commander now (and he wondered why), her hair was lighter than he remembered, and it was cut in a more flattering style. Her new uniform (in any of its variations: red, blue or purple) was without question much better than the former. But he noticed other things too: she was thinner, she was less self-assured when she answered questions, her back wasn't so straightened as before and, the weirdest things of all, she looked, for a Vulcan, somehow _sadder_.

But she was still as professional as always, the same intelligent and efficient officer. And she was pretty too. And she had that nice . . .

_'Don't. Go. There.' _

Malcolm focused into his console and got a grip. More relaxed, he looked around again. If the last year taught him something, it was to be more cautious and to never let his guard down.

He looked at the Helm station instinctively. In the place where Travis used to sit was Ensign Massaro. The blonde pilot was managing the controls unaware of Malcolm's stare. Massaro turned his head and give T'Pol a quick look. It was so fast that any other wouldn't have noticed. But Malcolm did. Massaro's glare had been the same as a cat to a mouse.

Malcolm suddenly had a bad feeling about all that.

* * *

T'Pol had been avoiding Commander Tucker for two days since the incident at the infirmary. She had never altered her way just because of a possible confrontation, but she wasn't the kind of person who would seek a clash. Commander Tucker had an obvious hostility toward her, and it was pointless to provoke him.

That was what she told herself. She hadn't gone into hiding because of the _incident_ before her departure to marry Koss. Vulcans didn't have regrets, after all.

Captain Archer was unaware of the tense welcome between the pair, and had ordered T'Pol to ask Commander Tucker for some calculations. So she was in Engineering looking for him.

He was at the main reactor. He was discussing something with a tall crewman. If T'Pol recalled correclty (and she always did), this crewman was Rostov. Commander Tucker's body language expressed passion. Rostov's face showed a clear admiration.

T'Pol sighed inwardly. Maybe she could make the request and leave the place without initiating an interplanetary war.

When she reached Commander Tucker, she just stood there, behind his back. She didn't want to interrupt his talk. Rostov cast a fleeting glance her way. It was enough to silence the Commander.

"Commander Tucker," she said aloud.

He looked down his nose at her, literally. T'Pol twisted her left wrist behind her back.

_"Lieutenant Commander_ T'Pol," he replied.

Vulcans weren't experts in voice inflexions, but even a deaf person would have recognized the sarcasm.

"Captain Archer ordered me to request these calculations from you." She gave him the padd and tried to look as calm as she could. He ripped the padd off her.

"The Cap'n asked for this?" he questioned, doubtfully.

"Yes, Commander."

"These are very technical requriements."

T'Pol's confidence waned.

"The Captain made the decision after listening to one of my reports," she explained.

Commander Tucker rolled his tongue against one of his mouth's sides.

"So, properly speaking, _you_ want these calculations."

T'Pol felt as if she was inside a gyroscopic field.

"Essentially."

Commander Tucker cracked a sharp smile, nodded and, very deliberately, tossed the padd onto the nearest flat surface. T'Pol looked at it, trying once more to understand the behavior of that specific Human.

"Do you want anything else?" he asked without glancing at her.

"Aren't you going to fulfill the task?"

"Is it urgent?"

"No, it's _important. _"

"Well, then, I'll have a look at it when I have time."

T'Pol opened her mouth, but closed it immediately. She didn't want to begin an argument. She was too tired for that.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"No, sir."

"Very well, dismissed."

The Vulcan left Engineering with the firm decision to avoid any further contact with the irrational Commander Tucker unless it was _strictly_ necessary.

And she hated that situation almost as much as her marriage.

* * *

In Archer's short experience, dinners with Sub-Commander (now Lieutenant Commander) T'Pol had been difficult, sometimes tense, other times strange, contentious at some points, entertaining also, even funny, but never, ever, boring.

But it was exactly that: a bore.

T'Pol was behaving in the most perfect Vulcan mode. She hardly said a word, and when she spoke, she used monosyllables or sentences with less than two words.

At his side, in front of her, Trip wasn't of much help either. His contribution to the conversation consisted of sarcastic comments toward T'Pol. That could have made things interesting, except that T'Pol had turned a deaf ear to his remarks.

The only sound at the table was the clang of the cutlery.

Archer was racking his brains to get any topic going. As a last resort, he'd even asked about the weather. His cheerful question "And is Vulcan's weather nice?" elicited "Hot and dry". Three words: that was actually a record.

Suddenly he remembered something.

"Oh, T'Pol, have been the calculations you requested been of any help?"

She almost dropped her spoon. Her enlarged eyes looked at him as if he had slapped her bottom. Meanwhile, Trip smirked.

"I haven't received them yet."

Five words! Oh, wait, "haven't" counted as one or two? Anyway, it was a miracle.

"Is there any problem?" Archer asked to Trip. "I mean, I don't want to put pressure on you if you have more important tasks to do. It's simply an idea T'Pol had, but it's not urgent."

"See? Not urgent," Trip told T'Pol with a big smile.

T'Pol swallowed, but said nothing.

Archer's gaze went from one to the other. He felt the same as on that day T'Pol had decided to leave _Enterprise_. He'd sensed then that she and Trip were hiding some facts from him. Archer hated that sensation.

"Is there something you haven't told me?"

"Nope, Cap'n."

Although Trip's answer was addressed to him, Trip wasn't looking at him. His eyes were fixed on the Vulcan. T'Pol returned his stare with a calm face, but Archer noticed some tension in her jaw.

"I hope you don't mind," Archer tried to ease the atmosphere. "About saying your request wasn't urgent."

"No." When he thought she wasn't going to say anything more she added: "It was expected."

Archer didn't like her tone.

"What does _that_ mean?"

"Merely that Humans tend to support each other, whatever the reason is. Even when they aren't right."

"And Vulcans don't?" Archer replied. "I picture Vulcans as a rather chauvinistic group."

"We don't defend illogical or barbaric solutions."

"That's bullshit T'Pol and you know it," Trip said before Archer could.

She tensed even more.

"Logic is the cement of our civilization with which we ascended from chaos using reason as our guide," she recited.

Archer and Trip shared a glance.

"With all due respect, T'Pol," the Captain said, "I think you forget little things like… _Paan Mokar_?"

"The Andorians set up a colony there."

"So attacking them without a warning is logical, but Humans attacking the Xindi is illogical?" Trip retorted, a sudden rage in his voice.

"I didn't say that."

"But the High Command sure as hell did. They were against this mission. Something about it being . . . highly illogical."

"We should see things from their perspective. Part of their analysis is based on the idea that we know nothing about the Xindi or their motivations," T'Pol explained.

"So we should sit here and do nothing?" Trip asked. His voice was an endless pit of repressed fury.

"I didn't mean that," she defended herself, a little desperate. "The Delphic Expanse is extremely dangerous, and it's logical to wait till we can complete more research."

"So you expect us to read books while they could be preparing another attack?"

"No, I didn't mean that."

"What did you _mean_?" Archer asked

T'Pol looked at him. She was so focused on Trip that the Captain's hard tone took her by surprise.

"I was merely stating the fact that this mission is perilous to say the least."

"It would stop you Vulcans?" Archer questioned.

"We would gather all the information we could _before_ starting the mission."

"They killed _seven_ millions Humans," Trip hissed. A vein protruded from his red neck. "If they killed seven millions Vulcans, wouldn't you do the same?"

"As I've said, we would be more cautious."

"How great it must be to lack any freaking emotion," Trip said, his tone as dark as a black hole.

Before T'Pol could reply, he stood up and strode to the exit.

Archer stared at the closed door for the longest minute. Trip's way of coping with the loss of Elizabeth, or rather his way not coping with it, worried him.

"I know I'm not welcome here," T'Pol's soft voice sounded in the quiet room.

Archer looked at her. She was very still, the ideal of Vulcan stoicism, but there was a haunted light in her eyes.

"It's not that, T'Pol," Archer explained, trying to sound convincing despite all his fatigue.

She didn't seem very convinced.

"It's just that…" Archer sighed. "Trip's sister died in the attack."

Archer had never seen such a clear emotion in any Vulcan face: for a blink, she showed real distress. Then she masked it with that aloof expression.

In any other situation, the Captain would be glad to know the Vulcan had emotions, but not that day.

He was too concerned about his friend, and the fact that his two main officers were getting along about as well as Vulcan and Earth seemed to right now.

He was really worried about the future.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** There is a line from Blackadder, not the original TV show but from "Blackadder Back and Forth". (A cookie for the first one who spots it.)

**Thanks:** to justTrip'n, of course.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

The nightmare was always the same:

It always began well enough: the pleasant warmth of the sun on his face, a wonderful fragrance wafting in the breeze, the happy chirping of birds in the air, and his sister smiling at him like she had all her life.

And then, a gigantic beam would materialize and begin to destroy the sunny park, his world, and everything he loved—approaching Lizzie while he shouted to her in vain.

Everything ended in fire and a shriek—which turned out to be his.

Trip woke up and noticed he was half sitting, his arm extended in a pointless attempt to grab something, breathing fast and covered in sweat.

As always.

He lay back down and tried to pull himself together, although he knew it was as useless as warning his sister. But he did it anyway. Lizzie used to call him "hound-dog" for his inability to let anything go.

Trip wondered if he would ever be able to spend more than five seconds without thinking of her—and suddenly this idea scared him.

It was obvious he couldn't fall asleep again, so he threw aside the blankets and sat on the edge of the bed.

He looked at his alarm clock: 0300. Too late and too soon for everything. He sighed. He had to do _something,_ if he didn't get his body or mind in motion he feared he would implode. The Gym seemed a good choice till he saw the padd on the table.

T'Pol's calculations.

He should take a look at them, one of these days; T'Pol had requested these calculations and Jon had agreed. Besides, he didn't have anything _better_ to do. Though he racked his brains, nothing else came to his mind. He thought about it in the shower and while he dried himself. After dressing in his uniform, calculations still seemed his only option.

He took the padd and went to the Mess Hall.

Contrary to conventional wisdom, Trip didn't hate calculations. The theoretical part of his work was very important, and as a good engineer, he was meticulous about them. The thing of it was, he was a thousand times more eager to calculate improvements for his _engines._

T'Pol's request had more to do with the sensors. Trip took another sip of his coffee, stared down at the padd, and felt amazement. Despite his resentments, he had to admit: he liked how she thought. She was quite imaginative, not just for a Vulcan, but for any scientist. In fact, she was _brilliant._ Trip discovered he was amusing himself.

As it often happened in these cases, the object of his thoughts entered the Mess Hall. She fell out of step when she saw him. Trip made an effort and raised his mug as a greeting. T'Pol merely nodded and headed for the drink dispenser. While she waited for her mint tea, she turned her head slightly to surreptitiously glance his way. Before her flight to Vulcan, Trip would have tried to strike up a conversation, but now he wasn't in the mood. If she wanted to talk, she would have to begin.

T'Pol grabbed her mug and walked toward the exit. As the doors opened she stopped. She seemed a sacrificed princess in front of the dragon's mouth. She looked at him once more; this time her stare was direct and clear. Trip waited. T'Pol kept glancing. Trip kept waiting. T'Pol's lips parted enough to show her white teeth. Trip frowned.

"Good night, Commander," she uttered and got out.

Trip didn't have time to respond. When he recovered, he just shrugged. If women were a mystery, _Vulcan_ women were like squaring the circle. He would never understand her. If he wanted to—which he didn't. Talking with her was at the bottom of his list of priorities. He knew for sure she never listened to him, anyway. That cold, repressed, high and mighty princess. Now that she was his subordinate, maybe he could teach her some humility. He had already begun: she would have noticed by now that her cabin's thermostat was broken. A little joke on Muroc that he didn't feel like fixing for T'Pol's benefit.

Trip amused himself some more by imagining how to turn her life into a living Hell. But the fun ended soon. His cup of resentfulness was filled with the Xindi. He really didn't want to make her suffer. Even if she deserved it. There was something wrong in that, like kicking someone who's already on the ground. Trip didn't know how to describe it properly, but she seemed beaten.

Well, enough was enough; thinking of her was a waste of time. He rubbed the back of his neck; it was killing him. If he could get some sleep the world would be a more pleasant place. He would have to visit Phlox _again._ Before that, however, he had work to do. Or calculations.

So he spent the remaining hours until daybreak (if it could even be called "daybreak" in a ship that voyaged through the space) in the Mess Hall, drinking coffee like there was no tomorrow and keying his padd like a man possessed. The few people who came into the Mess Hall stared at him, as if he was on the verge of madness. When the place began to fill, Trip knew it was time leave and go to Engineering.

But before that, maybe he should visit Phlox.

In the turbolift, the unthinkable happened: it stopped midway, the door opened and T'Pol came into view.

It was Murphy's Law: when you try to avoid somebody, you bump into that person at every corner.

She nodded as a salute, got into the turbolift, and turned her back on him. He could feel the warmth she emanated even at some distance. It astonished him how a body as petite as hers could concentrate so much heat. She was like a watch battery.

Trip folded his arms and fixed his gaze on her back. She irritated him; somehow just her presence made him cranky. It wasn't what she did in the past. And she didn't have to do anything now, either. Her very existence annoyed him. He felt a sudden desire to slap her neck just to make her angry and provoke an argument.

She tensed as if she had heard his thoughts. Or maybe she was aware of his stare. Nevertheless, she didn't utter a word.

The turbolift stopped and the door slid open. Trip passed near T'Pol to exit the booth, but she leaned a hand on the jamb and blocked the photoelectric sensor with her foot. She stretched her torso toward him.

Trip waited. Maybe there would be some arguing after all.

"The Captain informed me about… your loss," she said in a voice hardly louder than a whisper.

That's all he needed. His shoulders sank of sheer exhaustion. He didn't want to listen to whatever she had to say next—surely some Vulcan crap like "don't allow your emotions to control you" or "meditate and let it go" or . . .

"I grieve with thee."

Trip blinked. That was unexpected. Then the irritation came back. "Grieve," yeah, sure she grieved. That would mean she had feelings, which wasn't true.

"Yeah . . . emmm . . . Thanks," he murmured. "If you don't mind, Lieutenant Commander, I have work to do."

She nodded and he walked away, hoping for an ordinary day without more shocks.

* * *

T'Pol's day had been full of tasks, as usual. She had completed them in every part of the ship: the Bridge, the new Command Centre, the Science Laboratory, even the Mess Hall. But she had avoided her cabin. It was _cold._ She had complained to the person in charge, but she was well aware that a tendency towards delay and sloppiness were aspects of human nature.

A part of her brain was controlling her steps down the corridor, while another part was revising logarithms, and another part was scheduling the rest of the day, with a likely visit to the Gym; it was then when she met Major Hayes. And behind him Ensign Masaro. T'Pol had heard Lieutenant Reed calling the ensign "toady Masaro" for reasons that eluded her completely. He didn't look like a toad at all. In fact, he had an uncanny resemblance to Commander Tucker: tall; athletic build; fair skin; straight, blonde hair (maybe more dark and brownish); and bright blue eyes. But Masaro's appearance was more childlike, as if there was a shadow of adolescence in him still, although he had a powerful jaw with a very masculine dimple in the chin.

"Lieutenant Commander T'Pol," Hayes greeted and stopped in front of her.

T'Pol knew it was a signal for her halt on her way.

"Major Hayes," she answered.

"Lieutenant Commander, how are you doing?" Masaro asked. He was a step ahead of Hayes, and so stood too close to T'Pol for her liking.

"Adequately, thank you."

She took a step back. The smiling Masaro clasped his hands behind his back and stepped forward. He was directly looking in her eyes. T'Pol felt a kind of uneasiness. Masaro wasn't blatantly rude or disagreeable, but something in his gaze reminded her of Koss—a reminder she didn't like. At his side, Major Hayes studied her calmly. His glare didn't bother her that much: it was the typical of a soldier weighting up a possible asset. She had lived among military types long enough to recognize this look and be prepared.

"If you don't mind asking, ma'am, I suppose you are completely booked with tasks for the next few days?" Hayes said.

"Indeed."

"One thing must be said for Vulcans: they're absolute professionals," Hayes told Masaro. The Ensign nodded.

Despite them standing too close, especially Masaro, T'Pol sensed no real danger in the situation. If the last year had taught her a valuable lesson, it was how to identify an imminent threat against her.

"Lieutenant Commander T'Pol sure is hard at it," Masaro said a little too loudly.

Hayes and T'Pol glanced at him, with the Major showing the less subtle look of astonishment. Masaro had the face of a man trying to swallow his own tongue.

"I mean…" the Ensign tried once more, "Lieutenant Commander T'Pol's hard work confirms your statement, sir."

Hayes cracked a half smile.

"Correct, Ensign." He faced T'Pol again. "If you don't mind my bluntness, there is a question I wanted to ask you, as a Vulcan."

"Proceed."

"I've heard your species has a kind of . . . martial art."

"Yes, the _Suus Mahna."_

"They said it's pretty impressive."

"It's effective."

Hayes and Masaro smiled at once. T'Pol didn't know what Humans found so amusing in her corrections.

"Do you know the practice?" Hayes inquired.

"Yes."

"Then, with your permission, can I ask you to do an exhibition for the MACOs one of these days?"

T'Pol thought that an exhibition of _Suus Mahna_ was as absurd as ramming a wall with the head to test its resistance, but she decided to answer: "I'm sure your men have better things to do than attending a performance." This wasn't technically a lie.

"Not at all. They can always can learn new techniques from watching you."

"The _Suus Mahna_ is a very complicated art. It takes years to master."

"My men are well-trained soldiers with years of experience." His voice had a defensive edge.

"Then there is nothing I can teach them."

"It seem, Major, that she doesn't want to show us any techniques of self-defense," Masaro intervened. "I'm sure it's an ancient, top-secret martial art forbidden to non-Vulcans."

He smiled dazzlingly at her. She arched an eyebrow.

"Not in the slightest, Ensign," T'Pol declared. "Any individual with time and proper guidance can learn it. But it takes decades, at least. I'm not an expert myself, so I would be of poor assistance to the members of the Military Assault Command."

Hayes cocked an eyebrow with an amused expression.

"I'm not entirely convinced, Lieutenant Commander," he said, "but I'll have to take your words." His half-smile deepened. "For now."

T'Pol simply nodded.

"Now, if you excuse me, Major, I have responsibilities to attend," she said as a clear farewell.

"Of course," he complied. "Good day, Lieutenant Commander."

"Have a nice day, Lieutenant Commander T'Pol," Masaro added, doing a slight bow. Then he followed Major Hayes through the corridor.

T'Pol relegated all the conversation to the back of her mind and resumed her routine.

* * *

Visiting the Gym in the late afternoon wasn't a habit of Hoshi's. She preferred mornings. But if she wanted to carry out her plan, she would have to sacrifice.

_Carrying out her plan . . . _that sounded evil.

_Hoshi, Empress of Cunning, niahahaha._

Now, if just a quarter of that were true, she would be the coolest woman alive. But no, she was the usual Hoshi—the shy little mouse of _Enterprise._ Interestingly, she could fake a nice and friendly demeaner, but all that was superficial. Inside she was alone: the little girl in the empty room studying languages. That was the reason why she was walking toward the gym. She knew what it was to be isolated, above all after Tolaris; she had lived for a period of time as if looking out at the world from inside a laminated glass cage. Travis was a great help, but after his death everything was hard and difficult again.

She made a pause before entering the Gym.

The memory of Travis still hurt her, like an aching joint when it rains. Sometimes she heard a funny story and the idea of telling it to Travis crossed her mind, till she remembered. Those two second lapses were her most colorful moments; then the world returned to its usual grey. What Hoshi planned do, would be a tribute to Travis, a way to follow his custom of making people feel at home. And it didn't matter if the person Hoshi targeted for help wanted it or not.

Hoshi opened the door and entered the Gym.

The most probable thing was that the intended beneficiary of her kindness would refuse any sign of friendship. It scared Hoshi a little, because T'Pol was intimidating to say the least. Although now as Hoshi watched T'Pol trying to detach her fingers from something sticky on the handrail of her treadmill, she looked as frightening as a little rabbit with the word "boo" painted on its nose.

"May I help you?" the Ensign asked.

T'Pol looked at her while she hid her well-earned annoyance.

"I can manage."

Hoshi waited while T'Pol tried to remove her index and ring fingers from the banister and then from one another, and to do it without actually snorting or swearing. It was fun to watch.

"Maybe a wet a towel will be the charm," Hoshi tried.

For a moment, the Ensign was sure T'Pol would reject her idea, but after two more tugs she took her towel and offered it to Hoshi.

"If you don't mind, can you douse this, please?"

Hoshi complied and T'Pol spent several minutes in a scrupulous and silent cleaning. The Ensign didn't go too far in encouraging theVulcan to talk if she desired. T'Pol looked at her out of the corner of her eye.

"Can you identify this . . . _substance?"_

"I might be wrong, but I think it's bubble gum."

T'Pol arched an eyebrow. Hoshi didn't know if it was because she recognized the name or because she didn't. Hoshi didn't want to ask either way.

"The individual who left it should be more cautious and hygienic."

"I agree."

"Typical Human behavior," T'Pol mumbled. "Like lack of punctuality. The very Crewman who was using that treadmill was late to his work shift."

Hoshi had a "Sherlock Holmesesque" intuition.

"And you have told him that fact," she supposed.

"Yes."

"To his _face."_

"Obviously."

Hoshi held her smile back. T'Pol was as dense as Muroc. Maybe a little more. She was aware that trying to convince T'Pol was pointless; not only was she Vulcan (so she would think she was right regardless), but she also was almost a stranger (and Hoshi knew better than talking with authority to somebody whose favorite color she didn't even know.)

Instead of starting a conversation, she went to her treadmill. After all those months with Muroc, Hoshi knew Vulcans needed some space and time. As she predicted, T'Pol began to run as well. Late afternoon had become T'Pol's time of exercise. Hoshi had ascertained this information thanks to what Commander Tucker used to call "Malcolm's chicks radar": Lieutenant Reed could predict the exact position of any available female on _Enterprise_ if you gave him a precise hour.

While she was running, Hoshi was aware that T'Pol glanced her way a couple of times. But Hoshi didn't try to chat. Vulcans hated inane conversations. Hoshi would wait till T'Pol was confident enough to talk to her. For now, Hoshi would simply make herself a familiar presence during T'Pol's exercise time.

* * *

The common thing for Vulcans after work was a little spare time to do some exercise, read any interesting texts, address the family (if one had it) and, of course, meditate. After that, sleeping was the logical conclusion to the day.

Unless one was spending the night in a freezer.

T'Pol would sleep the fewest hours necessary, then leave her cabin. The rest of the nighttime she'd be in the Mess Hall drinking hot tea. The place was warm, agreeable and quiet.

It didn't seem like a room in a Human ship at all.

Every now and then a crewman or a MACO from the night shift entered the Mess Hall to drink something, but they didn't bother her and usually they didn't stay long either.

So she had the place all to herself while she studied the calculations that Commander Tucker had condescended to complete. In a very Vulcan way, T'Pol was enjoying herself.

Well into the night, she caught the sound of the doors opening. She lifted her eyes to give the Patented Vulcan Stare, which (as T'Pol had noticed) ususaly scared away Humans. Except the one who had just entered the Mess Hall:

Commander Tucker.

Suddenly T'Pol's mint tea tasted bitter.

He acknowledged her immediately. He looked uneasy, but nodded as a greeting anyway. T'Pol noticed he was dressed in a track suit and his face was red and sweaty. When he turned to order his drink, T'Pol double-checked his behind. She chastised herself a second later. After getting his ice tea, Commander Tucker looked around. He moved his weight from one foot to the other as if he was considering something. He glanced at her, then looked around again. In the end, he sighed and walked toward her.

"Do you mind if I join you?" he asked when he reached her table.

She motioned with her hand toward the free seat in front of her.

In a moment he sat down, T'Pol picked up his odor. She moved back till she leaned on the chair. At least he could have taken a shower. Commander Tucker seemed pleased with her reaction.

"An interesting lecture, Lieutenant Commander?"

"Actually, I was examining the calculations that the Captain requested."

"That _you_ requested."

T'Pol didn't fall into the trap. She wasn't going to argue.

"And couldn't you do it in your cabin?" he tried from another angle.

"I'd rather not to spend more time than the necessary there."

"Why?"

"The average temperature is quite cold due to the thermostat being broken."

"Oh, _really?"_

He didn't seem surprised. In fact, he seemed delighted.

"I suppose you were aware of that," T'Pol said, deadpan.

"I've heard something, yes."

She knew that insisting on repairing it would be as useless as trying to teach him to say "Captain" instead of "Cap'n". For each thing she found fascinating in Humanity, Commander Tucker had ten that she couldn't stand. She needed all her willpower to hold her tongue, specially when he looked so … so… Well, he looked terrible. T'Pol was used to greenish skin, but not on Humans. His usually bright blue eyes were dull, and there were bags under them that stood out like Andorians in a Vulcan desert. Besides, he was sitting with a slouch and even his voice sounded tired.

"It is late, Commander. What are you doing here?" The question left her lips before she could stop it.

"I was thirsty after working out in the Gym."

"Let me rephrase it. What are you doing _awake_ so late?"

He moved back grabbing his mug as if he was about to turn round and run away.

"I simply… woke up and… I was in the bed, couldn't sleep a wink, so… So here I am, trying to do things to fall sleep again."

"You are drinking _tea."_

He glanced at his mug, obviously embarrassed.

"Well… And so what? What I do is none of your business." He moved his hand back and forth several times as if he was trying to draw an invisible path between them. "Quit acting as if you care for me or something."

T'Pol visualized ten ways of knocking him on his ass (paraphrasing Captain Archer) and only one of these methods required her to actually stand up.

"An exhausted officer is an inefficient officer," she decided to reply.

"Now this is more Vulcan. Your concerns are strictly professional."

"Of course. Fatigue implies lack of attention and your lack of attention can jeopardize the mission."

"Yeah, I was right." He cracked a sour smile. "You know, you had me worried back there for a moment. I thought you were getting emotional."

"I don't understand."

"Asking about my welfare, looking worried, saying that you _grieve_ for me . . ."

T'Pol clenched her teeth. She didn't know what expression was wearing in that exact moment, but from Commander Tucker's reaction, it had to be frightening. She couldn't stand any more. She had set her heart on trying to be civilized with him. She had swallowed her logical reserve and expressed her condolences. She was sincere when she told him she was sorry for him, using the Vulcan manner. And what had she received? Contempt and distrust.

T'Pol stood up.

"You aren't the only one who had lost a family member," she said in a very controlled tone.

He swallowed. She walked toward the exit. Midway she heard the Commander's voice:

"Lieu— T'Pol, wait!"

She stopped, but didn't turn round.

"I . . . I'm tired. I don't know what I'm saying," he said.

T'Pol turned to look at him. It wasn't exactly an apology, but she, as a Vulcan, didn't expect one either. He seemed ashamed, and so worn out.

"You should rest," she gave in.

He nodded and rubbed his nape, but T'Pol knew somehow that he wasn't going to obey.

"By the way, about the calculations . . ." he said.

"Yes?"

"We have to schedule an appointment."

"What for?"

"Well, we have to recalibrate the sensor grid, don't we?"

T'Pol was so taken aback that she just nodded. She got out without a reply and all the way back to her cold, cold cabin she tried to play it down.

It was just work, the usual activity on _Enterprise._

But in the deepest, T'Pol knew the next days would be _anything_ except ordinary.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Star Trek Enterprise is property of CBS/Paramount. There is a part of dialogue (with slight variations) from "The Expanse", which was written by Rick Berman and Brannon Braga. And there is a line that I owe to _Alelou_ :-)

**Author's note:** I'm very sorry for the delay, but this chapter has been Hell. As always, feedback is appreciated.

* * *

**CHAPTER 5**

Trip needed a manual to understand T'Pol. Or, at least, a map with a notation "you are here" in it to know where he was exactly and which way he had to go to find the exit.

When he allowed the procedure to recalibrate the sensors, he didn't know it was going to create such bedlam. Everything was all right at the beginning: the test in the command center was a success and the sensor readings were clear and accurate. But then T'Pol reported that her console on the bridge was experiencing problems. Trip was skeptical: he hadn't noticed anything wrong and T'Pol could be overly particular. Maybe it was a little unfair, but he had more important things to do, so he didn't pay much attention to her complaints. If something was wrong, he told her, she would need to bring him evidence of it.

She didn't argue back, which surprised him. She just nodded and went away. He thought everything had ended, but days later T'Pol came to him with detailed records of how the long range sensor scan gave different readings in her console than in the command center on two different occasions. So he began by checking T'Pol's console, which was the most probable source of the problem. T'Pol didn't agree with him. She wanted a team to search the ship. He denied her request before she could complete it. He saw the potential catastrophe: The last thing he wanted was a rebellion among his men concerning T'Pol. He had learned his lesson with Muroc.

Instead he checked her console daily to search out the anomaly, because although he was annoyed and very tired, he knew T'Pol was right and something was wrong with it that made it show different reading for the long range sensor. It had to be a circuit in the console because that was the most logical explanation and the only one he could try to fix without ripping the ship apart, but the hand-scanner he used to check the console turned out to be of no use. Just like T'Pol. It wasn't exactly as if she was disagreeable, ironic or anything like that, but she still refused to accept his theory. Working with T'Pol was one thing. Working long hours with an aloof and uncooperative T'Pol was another.

"Are you sure the computer program is correct?"

"Commander, as I told you _many times before_, I've tested it, more than once. To make sure I wasn't making any mistakes I've ordered some crewmen of my team to repeat the procedures. The result has been the same."

"Then it's some circuit."

"Why do you assume it must be related to this console?"

Trip was sick of the same argument. "Because it fits. Other theories are too far-fetched."

She narrowed her eyes just slightly. He expected a sour retort, but T'Pol said nothing. Her lack of combativeness shocked him. "We should weigh other possibilities," she said instead.

"Look, you may have several degrees in space rocks, micro-singularities and being a pain in the ass, but this is my ship." He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. She looked affronted, if in a very subdued way. The crewmen of the night shift cast quickly-concealed glances at them.

The entire situation was absurd. He didn't know why he was taking her on. He was acting like a complete jerk. But he couldn't control himself; something in her awakened his baser instincts. When she was around, he felt physically ill and he swore he could hear soft raspy whispers telling him to hurt her, to make her life miserable. Sometimes (especially those last days) he felt like throwing up.

And he needed to sleep. Oh, how he needed it. He went to Phlox every day now, asking for sedatives, but each time the effect was smaller. And to make things worse, he began to need stimulants to get through the day.

"Look… I didn't mean that…" He tried to fix it. "You are a fine Science Officer and I don't doubt your knowledge, but when we're talking about _Enterprise_ and her machinery you have to trust me, OK?"

"Of course, sir."

She was so obliging. Probably because she knew he wanted to argue back and he couldn't stand not having an excuse for it.

"I'm going to have a look at the circuits again," he announced, and sighed. The idea of going into that narrow place full of cables didn't appeal him much.

"We can continue it later on, Commander. You should rest." T'Pol's voice was neutral, but her face was a little judgmental.

"Are you tired?"

"No, but—"

"Then I'm not either."

Trip knelt and made his way through the tangle of wires and connections. "Pass me the hand-sensor."

He was lying down, lighting up part of the structure with a little flashlight in one hand and the other stretched backward to pull the required sensor. He felt something metallic touching his palm, but he lost it. He moved his hand again and he touched something soft and warm-- T'Pol's flesh. In that very moment a painful discharge jumped from her, up his extended arm and into his brain, where it became a pulsating heat on his right temple-- so suddenly that he jumped and hit his head.

"Are you all right, Commander?" T'Pol asked.

Trip could see her face peering at him from the end of the tube. Her eyebrow was arched, but she didn't seem amused.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Let me get out."

T'Pol offered her hand.

"No, no, I don't need your help. I can do it myself, thank you."

Once he was outside, Trip rubbed his hand and the crown of his head alternatively.

"What was that?" he asked.

"What was _what_?"

"That… discharge."

"I noticed nothing."

He was going to answer, "You never feel anything," but just barely managed to hold it back. Why was he so tempted to be cruel? Yes, he was a Vulcan (like Muroc) and yes, she was _T'Pol_, but since her return she had done nothing to irritate him to that extent.

He looked at her. She stared at him in turn. Trip had the sensation that he was seeing her for the first time. He noticed the subtle changes in her: the different hair, the thinner figure -- and the eyes; those eyes that used to burn with the brightness of a star, now two sad walls.

She wasn't Muroc. She wasn't even the old T'Pol. She was a stranger.

For the first time, Trip saw a complete alien in T'Pol.

"Are you all right, Commander?" she asked again.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. A little sore, that's all."

Trip stood up, tottering. T'Pol studied him, glancing to the comm. as if debating whether to call for help.

The turbolift's door opened and Crewman Taylor showed up, with a tool box in one hand and an unconcerned smile on her lips. She stopped smiling immediately.

"What's happened?" she asked and ran toward the commander. Trip was relieved to see that Taylor didn't shoot T'Pol an accusatory glare, as others would have done. She was a nice person.

"I got a shock," Trip explained and tried to point at the scanner with the hand that was supporting him. His weakness and gravity became allies and weakened his knees.

Before Taylor could even react, T'Pol passed her arm under his armpit to prevent his fall.

"Wow, quick save!" Taylor complimented her.

So close to T'Pol, Trip felt the obligation to joke. "Remind me to never play "drop the handkerchief" against you."

Taylor couldn't help smiling. T'Pol just stared.

Trip noticed she smelled of sand and mint. An odd combination. Her face was very, very near. Trip's self-defense mechanism kicked in again. "Shall we dance?" he asked.

The old T'Pol would have arched a brow, or looked slightly amused (or annoyed), or she would have made a remark.

But _this_ T'Pol did nothing of the above. She simply shook her head and, once she made sure he could maintain his balance, she stepped back.

Yep. He needed a map.

* * *

For Hoshi the Mess Hall was a pastime. In fact, she enjoyed it more than "movie night." She could know a lot about the ship just from watching people eat. She didn't even have to talk.

She was standing in the middle of the room, grabbing her tray ad trying to make a decision.

On one side was a table with three MACOs, among them Major Hayes. On the other side was T'Pol, eating alone.

The side of Hoshi that loved languages and patterns, that had enlisted in Starfleet, that had packed for _Enterprise_, wanted to sit down with the large group. The side that had spent most part of her life studying languages alone -- and that had cried and curled up into a ball after Tolaris -- made her head for T'Pol's table. "May I join you, Lieutenant Commander?"

The Vulcan lifted her gaze from the padd. She motioned the chair near hers.

Hoshi didn't talk right away. She made T'Pol feel comfortable first. For the last week she had shared part of her time with the Vulcan. They didn't talk much, but the company seemed to benefit T'Pol and she was loosening up little by little.

"Have you discovered what's wrong with your console?" Hoshi asked and tried to take a peek at T'pol's padd.

"No." T'Pol looked as pissed off as a Vulcan could look.

"After all these days it must be frustrating."

"Indeed. Above all…" T'Pol shut up and gazed her a little wearily, as if she didn't want to talk. But after two seconds she seemed to change her mind. "Above all when Commander Tucker is being obtuse and can't see that his approach is flawed."

Hoshi blinked. It had to be serious if T'Pol was criticizing Trip's work. His very Human unpredictability? She'd done that before herself. His lack of tact? Of course. His taste in clothes? Who wouldn't? But his work? That was new. "Does he disagree with you?"

"Yes, but that's not the issue." T'Pol looked away. "His behavior is most irrational. He isn't arguing with me. He isn't making any argument at all. He insists on his preconception and doesn't think about it."

Hoshi didn't know if T'Pol was talking about the problem with the sensors or about herself. She had watched some of the interactions between the Commander and the Lieutenant Commander, and she wasn't very happy with Trip, but he was still her friend.

"He is tired," the Ensign explained. "He is under a lot of pressure."

"I know and…" She shut up again. Something was gnawing her. "But it's not acceptable to be negligent in his work." Before Hoshi could reply T'Pol added, "I have never seen him do anything like this."

Hoshi understood that T'Pol wasn't angry with Trip, she was disoriented. "Commander Tucker may look stubborn and unprofessional, but he's the best engineer in Starfleet. All his men appreciate him and his work has been irreproachable."

"It's only with me that he behaves this way, then," T'Pol deduced.

Hoshi kicked herself mentally. "He had a hard time with Muroc."

T'Pol's stare was sharp and cold. "I'm not Muroc."

"I'm fully aware of that. And… And I'm sure the Commander knows it too. Just… give him time."

T'Pol cocked her head and glanced sideways. That, in Hoshi's unfinished "T'Pol-Human/Human-T'Pol" dictionary, meant she was considering her words. Then she looked at Hoshi again; this time her stare was soft and a little childlike. "Can I ask you something, Ensign?"

Hoshi swallowed her smile. It was the first time that T'Pol had initiated a topic. All Hoshi's efforts were going to get a result at last. "Shoot."

T'Pol looked momentarily confused at her wording, but went on anyway. "Can you tell me how—?"

Suddenly the Vulcan turned her head toward the entrance and her eyes enlarged. Hoshi knew before she looked that Trip had just come in and she felt a momentary urge to strangle him.

He was walking about and nodding at people. Trip greeted everybody and everybody greeted Trip. When he grabbed a tray, a woman took advantage of the opportunity to chat with him. She was an attractive brunette with astounding self-confidence. Hoshi recalled her name: Corporal Amanda Cole.

She and Trip shared no more than a few words, but their body language said a lot more. It was obvious Amanda was flirting with him and it was obvious he was letting her. Hoshi smiled and turned her attention to T'Pol. The Vulcan was stubbornly keying her padd, her eyes fixed on the little screen. She had a perfect view of the couple, but she refused to look. _How interesting._

"Do the ladies mind if I sit with them?" Trip's voice sounded.

Hoshi looked up. T'Pol didn't.

"Of course not, Commander," the Ensign answered when she realized the Vulcan wasn't going to open her mouth.

Trip beamed and sat down with a friendly easiness. But Hoshi knew it was all faked. He was trying to show a "happy-go-lucky" attitude that his body performed mechanically, without real conviction. His face and his posture shouted his fatigue, although somehow he could act normally. Stimulants, Hoshi presumed. Again. "We are cheery today," she said.

Trip stirred his mashed potatoes and gave T'Pol a mischievous smile.

"That's because, at last, I've figured out what was wrong with the console."

T'Pol did lift her gaze from her padd this time.

"Have you been working on the problem… without my assistance?" she asked. Her voice trembled oh so slightly.

"Yeah, I had time before lunch."

"I could have helped you."

"Nah, you'd been working all night and you needed to rest."

"I should have stayed there," she insisted.

Hoshi's gaze went from one to the other. Oh, it was tricky. Trip had just offended T'Pol and he didn't know it. She had to do something quickly.

"I'm sure the Commander didn't want to bother you with an issue more related to his responsibility and his team."

"It's the Science station," T'Pol answered in her "this is so obvious that it's insulting" tone of voice.

"Yes, but remember the Captain had requested a detailed report from those star charts you talked about and you have other tasks to complete. The Commander wanted to make part of your burden lighter. I'm sure he didn't do it because he thought you were _of no use_." She looked directly in his eyes when she said the last part.

Trip could be a little dense sometimes, Hoshi knew, but this time he got it straight away.

"I didn't want to tire you," he stuttered.

T'Pol's eyes brightened and she moved her lower jaw, ready to reply. Hoshi was expecting a remark like "Vulcans don't get tired" or a comparison between Vulcan and Human stamina levels. That, of course, would prompt Trip to counter her and then they would immerse themselves in one of their famous arguments.

Against all expectations, however, T'Pol's eyes lost their light and she bowed her head.

"I understand," she said.

Trip and Hoshi exchanged a glance. Both of them were astonished. In fact, Hoshi was more worried than surprised. What had happened to T'Pol's backbone? She never stood her ground against Trip anymore. Hoshi began to wonder what she had suffered on Vulcan.

"See? She doesn't have energy even to argue," Trip told Hoshi. He was trying to sound facetious, but his expression suggested genuine concern.

"You were right. It's illogical to refute an accurate argument," T'Pol explained.

"You're a dream come true for any husband," Trip joked, making T'Pol arch an eyebrow. Before Hoshi could stop him he went on: "By the way, you've told us nothing about your married life. How is it? Are you happy?"

Hoshi knew Trip didn't want to be rude. Quite the opposite, for the first occasion in a long time he was trying to chat amicably with T'Pol. But that topic wasn't exactly the best way to do it. Vulcans were very private individuals, after all.

T'Pol stiffened and her face had never looked so blank. "My union is adequate."

Hoshi could see the frost forming on each word. She was aware that marriage for Vulcans didn't mean the same as for Humans. The idea of marrying _for love_ was totally alien for them. And obviously some of their words didn't mean the same and could be misinterpreted in English, like saying "it's agreeable" instead of "I like it very much". But even for a Vulcan (and especially if that Vulcan was T'Pol), her answer was too cold.

"I'm… glad to hear it?" Trip tried to say. He was at a complete loss.

T'Pol did that thing she did -- pressing her padd with both hands and glancing at her sides -- that indicated a deep uneasiness.

"Have you written your report about the repair?" she asked.

"Only a rough draft. It's on my desk in Main Engineering."

"With your permission, I'll examine it." She stood up.

"Don't you trust my work?" he asked, a small smile on his lips.

T'Pol stared at him. Her face was stern. "No," she answered.

Trip's mouth dropped open. Before he could reply, however, she was gone.

"Did you see that?" he asked Hoshi while he pointed at the exist door.

She nodded.

"What's up with her?" he wanted to know. "She's a real pain."

Hoshi wanted to say that T'Pol wasn't the only one with an attitude problem, but diplomatically she replied: "She's Vulcan. They're workaholics and control freaks who have to re-examine everybody's work. It's nothing personal."

"No, not that. What the hell happened with her? I mean, she was cold before, all professionalism and no fun, but at least she had…"

"Fire?"

"I was going to say spirit, but yes." He fell silent and shot Hoshi a questioning glance. "Something's going on with her, isn't it?"

"Yes, I think so."

Trip stared at his plate. Hoshi felt a dull pain in her chest. Travis gone, the Captain absent, T'Pol beaten and Trip depressed. Too many things were changing.

"Why those long faces?"

Hoshi lifted her face to look at Lieutenant Reed. He was holding his tray. His face was a mixture of worry and distrust.

Well, maybe not _everything_ had changed.

Malcolm canted his head at the empty chair and sat down when Hoshi gave him permission with a soft smile.

"I hate to look like a snoop, but what's the matter with you two? Especially you," Malcolm said shooting Trip a suspicious glare.

"It's T'Pol," the Commander confessed. "She's acting weirdly."

"She? She's not the only one with a strange behavior," Malcolm pointed out and then he took a piece of steak, mixed it with the mashed potatoes and gobbled it up. Malcolm's appetite never seemed damaged.

"What do you mean?" Trip asked.

"Well, you don't have exactly a professional demeanor when dealing with her."

"Because she's stubborn and unreasonable. She drives me mad. When I'm with her I feel the need to… to…"

"To pull her braids?" Hoshi provided.

Malcolm snickered.

"Ha, ha, very funny," Trip said.

"It wasn't intended as a joke, Commander," Hoshi answered, a dark scowl on her face. "You're being immature and quite irrational with her. The crew has begun gossiping about you two."

"What?" Trip exclaimed.

"Well, you know what means in kindergarten when a boy pulls a girl's plaits, don't you?" Malcolm needled.

"Oh, great, that's all I needed," Trip mumbled. "I swear to God I'm trying to be civilized with her, but I can't. I don't know what happens with me, honest."

He seemed perplexed and Hoshi remembered the weeks after T'Pol left _Enterprise_; Trip had looked shocked for days, as if he just couldn't believe it.

"Whatever is the source of your resentment, it would be better to bury it," Malcolm advised. "She's the Science Officer and your subordinate. You have to set an example, my friend."

"You're right, you're right," Trip admitted. He looked at the other side of the Mess Hall and smiled. "Maybe I should behave more like him."

Hoshi followed his gaze and discovered Ensign Masaro, who was happily chatting at the MACOs' table.

"Flatterer." Malcolm mumbled, contradicting his last words.

"Don't be harsh with him," Hoshi said. "Tommy is a good kid."

"_Tommy?_"

"That's what he told me to call him," Hoshi explained and shrugged.

"He's never told _me_ to call him Tommy," Malcolm said.

Hoshi glanced at him.

"Because you can't stand him."

"That's not true!"

It was Trip's time to snicker. Malcolm looked daggers at him. "I don't…" He tried again, but gave up immediately. "He's Starfleet and he spends too much time with the MACOs."

"They're here to help us," Trip reasoned calmly. Hoshi perceived an angry edge though.

"Not that Hayes, he's here to help _himself_."

Hoshi was surprised by the lack of rank before Hayes' name. It wasn't like Lieutenant Reed to forget respect.

"I think you're jealous," Trip joked.

That commentary received another death glare.

"He's hiding something."

"C'mon Mal, don't be paranoid," Trip said.

"I can smell it." Malcolm gobbled another piece of steak up. "I don't trust him."

"You trust nobody," Trip pointed out. When Malcolm stiffened he added "But that's why you're so good as a Tactical Officer, you see the things that the rest of us don't. Don't worry, when Major Hayes takes notice of it you'll be best buddies."

Trip smiled and spread his good humor to Malcolm. Hoshi smiled too. Trip had the marvelous gift of seeing the best in others and making them feel special. He always had a cheerful word or a note of praise for everybody.

Hoshi frowned. Now that she thought about it, Trip used to be nice and encouraging with everybody _except_ T'Pol.

Hoshi felt suddenly confused by this fact.

* * *

Captain Archer was scrutinizing the star charts on the screen as if studying them would reveal the answers to all his questions.

Seven weeks and he knew exactly as much as he did when their mission began: nothing.

He was a man of strong principles, a man of few doubts, a man of action; to stand in a room with nothing to do but watch was driving him crazy.

The door slid open. He didn't need to look to recognize the newcomer: the lack of sound gave T'Pol away.

"The report you requested, Captain," she said as she gave him a padd.

He took the padd but didn't have a look at it.

"Very well, Lieutenant Commander."

He kept on watching the screen. T'Pol didn't move. Archer didn't have a clue what she was waiting for, but he was too focused to attach importance to it.

"Have you ever been in the Expanse?" he asked after a while.

"As I…" She emitted a low sound, like a sigh. "No, I haven't."

"Anywhere near it?"

"No, when the chance for it could arise, I was already at the Consulate on Earth."

That aroused his curiosity a little. "So you served in a survey ship, I suppose."

"I've been traveling space for 30 years, Captain. I've served in several ships"

Archer suddenly felt like a kid. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. "After all that time, I suppose you find it boring."

"Not at all."

Something in her voice made him gaze her. She was standing in her usual composed demeanor, all stiffness and straight angles. Her head was turned, studying the star charts, and her face was almost inexpressive. Almost. There was a subtle hint of longing, unimportant in a Human, but a telltale sign in a Vulcan. And suddenly Archer realized he really didn't know much about T'Pol. The few things he knew about her were the result of her bantering with Trip, back when they used to. Trip was the only one who could get through her cold shell. That reminded Archer of something.

"I've been told that Trip has figured out the Science station's problem without your help."

Archer could swear he heard T'Pol's spine crack when she stiffened.

"Yes."

Archer smiled. "So his idea was the good one," he needled. "He was right and you weren't."

"I _am_ right," she snapped.

Not "I was right": "I am right." T'Pol answered with the haughtiness typical of never being wrong. She walked through the world like a blade.

"He claims the contradictory readings of my console are the result of electromagnetic fields. We passed near electrically charged clouds when the scan failed," she explained. "But, technically speaking, my theory hasn't been refuted."

"Which was… refresh my memory…"

"A power glitch."

"Where?"

"In any part of the power supply circuit."

"And you expect the crew to search all the ship to find it, of course."

"It is the logical thing to do."

"I'm sure Commander Tucker weighed up the pros and cons of that idea and decided his theory answered all the questions better."

"I doubt the Commander has even considered my plan."

Archer's defensive streak arose. "Trip is a professional. He's the best Engineer in Starfleet."

"He's stubborn and irrational, and what's worse, he's exhausted. He can't reason properly."

"Nonsense. He has never slept much and that never influenced his work."

"It's worse than that. He doesn't sleep at all, he works all day and the only time I've seen him eat was today."

"Because he has completed his job."

"I don't agree with that."

"That's enough T'Pol!"

His anger made her to step back. If he hadn't been so mad he would have noticed it, but he was in fact enraged. That she had the nerve to tell him something wrong was happening with his best friend was more than he could bear. She didn't know Trip. She didn't care about him enough to know him. Archer had been Trip's buddy for a long time. If something was wrong with him he would have detected it, wouldn't he?

Arched needed a few minutes to recover his normal breathing. Once calmed he replied: "I don't care what your personal problems with him are, Lieutenant Commander. Trip is your superior officer and you must obey him."

"I've never said I wouldn't, I've just suggested that—"

"And you won't question his competence. If this mission is going to succeed, we have to stick together and have faith in each other. You'll have to trust him."

"I have confidence in his intellect. What I question is his physical condition to use it appropriately."

"Lieutenant Commander…"

She seemed ready to continue, but she thought better of it. Her stare became somehow distant. "Understood, sir. If those are your orders I'll obey them. However, I must raise my objection."

"Objection noted. Anything else?"

"Now that you mention it, Captain, yes, there is something I wanted to ask."

"Go ahead."

"The thermostat in my cabin is broken."

"And? Ask Maintenance to fix it."

"I have, sir, but their delay is considerable and…" She looked sideways, as if she was ashamed. "And it's cold."

Sometimes T'Pol was such a baby.

"I suppose you want me to talk to them," he said.

"If it doesn't cause any inconvenience."

"Actually, it could. I can't give anybody a preferential treatment."

"I'm a superior officer."

"Exactly. If Maintenance hasn't fixed your thermostat that means they have more important tasks to do." Archer sighed. Even a small problem seemed bigger when T'Pol was involved. "Be patient," he added, more to himself than to her.

If Archer didn't know better he would swear she was about to roll her eyes. Fortunately for him, Trip entered into the room at that very moment.

There was a sudden awkward moment.

"I didn't know you were here," Trip excused himself, and looked unsure whether to keep walking or not. He added, "If you two are busy…"

"No, Commander, we had already finished." T'Pol looked at Archer with her hands clasped behind her back. "If you'll excuse me, Captain."

Archer nodded. T'Pol went past Trip. She didn't even glance at him. Trip grimaced. Then he approached the console in the room and began to examine it.

"Is there something wrong?" Archer asked after a quiet minute.

"No. Have you noticed something wrong?"

"No."

Trip made an absent gesture with his head, a mixture between "OK" and "whatever you say." He examined the same screen Archer was watching.

"Really, Trip, is everything all right?" the Captain asked.

Trip sighed and he got closer to Archer with his hands on his hips.

"Yes, everything's going smoothly. I was just making sure."

"You don't think T'Pol is right?" Archer suggested.

"No, of co—" Trip glanced at his Captain. "I want to check that everything works perfectly. I'd hate that T'Pol could accuse me of any mistake."

"She'll take the opportunity to do it," Archer said dryly. "She believes you are not getting enough sleep."

"Really?" He sounded truly surprised.

"Yes, she was trying to convince me that your judgment is impaired."

"And to think that I was considering being nicer to her," Trip joked.

Archer cracked a smile. Trip was all right: maybe a little tired, but he still the honest and good humored man he knew.

"Anyway," Trip went on, "I figure she's going to be cranky for a while."

"You bet. And if that wasn't enough she has a problem with Maintenance."

"What kind of problem?"

"Her thermostat is broken."

"Still?" Trip exclaimed.

"Apparently." Archer's brain let time pass till it fully grasped this information. "Wait a moment, what does "still" mean? How do you know how much time has been her thermostat broken?"

"Uh… Oh… I heard something about it… one day."

He seemed hesitant, but Archer didn't pressure him. He kept watching the star charts.

"And?" Trip asked suddenly.

"And what?"

"What have you told her?"

"That she should be patient. When Maintenance can repair her thermostat, they will."

"I see…" After a pause Trip spoke again: "Did she seem angry or something?"

"No. She looked uncomfortable and a little bothered, I guess. She's said that her cabin was cold."

"Really?" Trip sounded worried.

"Yes, but you know, she's T'Pol. She's _always_ complaining about the cold."

Trip chuckled, but then he cleared his throat. He fidgeted for a bit, then cleared his throat again. "I think I have to go."

"OK, I'll see you at dinner."

Archer didn't hear him go. He was too busy studying the star charts for answers to his questions.

* * *

Although Trip seldom covered the road to Maintenance, he knew the _Enterprise_ like the back of his hand, so he could walk it with his eyes closed.

He felt a little guilty, a feeling he didn't like in the slightest. What had begun as a joke seemed a cruelty and even xenophobic now. He didn't want to be mean, even if a part of him whispered that she deserved it a little. But, enough was enough. He was an adult and he was able to admit that he had crossed the line. Besides, his mama didn't raise him to make Vulcan women freeze.

Even if that Vulcan was as stubborn as T'Pol.

Trip sighed and entered the lonely door in the end of the corridor. Maintenance had that look of deserted warehouses and seedy looking shops in horror B movies. He expected a hairy little monster to jump from the shelves anytime soon. They were in a space ship, so it wasn't such a crazy idea.

In the farthest side of the room, between two large filing cabinets, a woman was working on a computer.

Trip cleared his throat and headed to her with his best self-assured attitude. Once in front of her he waited for a greeting.

He waited in vain.

Trip coughed as a notice.

The woman ignored him all the same.

"Excuse me," he said out loud.

She lifted her gaze. She had the kind of face where angular features and piercing eyes stood up and couldn't be described as beautiful. Mostly because a man could expect a kick in his crotch for saying such a thing. But she looked interesting.

"Ensign Fuller?" he asked.

"The slave in front of you."

Trip smiled, desperate. He knew for experience that few women could resist his charm. Fortunately for him Ensign Fuller wasn't one of them; she smiled back.

"What does the always busy Commander Tucker want from me?"

"I'm here to ask about Lieutenant Commander T'Pol's thermostat."

Her smile disappeared like free food in a pensioners' party.

"What about it?" she asked.

"I've heard it's broken and she had requested its repair."

"And?"

"Her cabin is very cold."

Ensign Fuller threw him a sharp glare. "I'm not going to ask how do you know it," she said.

Trip felt the childish urge to hide his face against a shoulder.

"I still don't know what you have to do with Lieutenant Commander T'Pol's thermostat."

Time to use some of the Tucker charm. "I'm here to know if there is a chance to get your men to repair it as soon as possible. Like today." He smiled again.

"The repair schedule has an order, Commander."

"Yes, I know, but since it's something small and it would help Human/Vulcan relationships, I thought you could make an exception." He lowered his voice till turning it into a conspirator whisper. "What do you say, Katherine?"

"Everybody calls me Kate."

"Kate."

She was smiling, but the smile had a dangerous edge.

"Let me get it straight, Commander. So you want me to push the thermostat's repair up the list, to put it before other tasks."

"If it isn't much trouble."

"It is." She looked skeptical. "If it's so little, but so important at the same time, why don't you repair it _yourself_?"

Trip stepped back. He wanted to be as little involved as possible. One thing was to have T'Pol suspecting him, and other very different to give her all the proofs to accuse him. "Ehhh… I think it's better if we follow the official procedure."

"But you expect _me_ to ignore it."

"It's not exactly like breaking any rule, it's just making the procedure quicker." He exhaled a frustrated groan. "The thermostat was broken long ago; too long ago."

"With all due respect, have you any idea of how much work we have?"

He was making her angry. That wasn't the best way to achieve his goal.

"I know," he soothed her, "but she's a superior Officer. Nothing good will happen if our Science Officer is exhausted or uncomfortable."

"She told me herself that Vulcans were used to discomfort."

Geez… T'Pol and her ability to get on well with people…

"Look, all of us are professionals. We must do our job aside from our personal feelings."

"I find that commentary very ironic coming from you, _sir_."

Trip felt jolted.

"How can you teach me lessons about professionalism when _you_ have been acting like a brat with Lieutenant Commander T'Pol?"

He didn't know if her words were result of anger, offence, retaliation or shame, but it didn't matter. She was right. How stupid she had made him look; how stupid, petty and fickle. Malcolm's recommendation came to his mind: he had to set an example, otherwise the crew would treat T'Pol as badly as him, which was unfair to her. Yes, he didn't have exactly a perfect record when dealing with her, but it was based on his own reasons. His own personal reasons and no one else's. And now that he was trying to help her, everyone else acted based on prejudices. The irony of the situation exhausted him deeply.

"I didn't want to sound patronizing," he said. "I hate it too when somebody tells me how to do my job." He tried to look sympathetic. "But I'm serious, Lieutenant Commander T'Pol _is_ cold, and I think that it's enough. So when you can, please repair her thermostat, OK?"

She nodded. She was quick tempered, but not resentful, it seemed.

Everything had been said, so he left the room. Once in the corridor he exhaled all the oxygen inside his lungs, trying to ease the oppression in his heart. He felt that the worst had passed. It was like crashing your dad's car; any other news after that doesn't sound so terrible.

It was almost funny how the little things shaped his relationship with T'Pol. Hasty choices had left him where he was, at least: he impulsively decided to let T'Pol freeze because her impulsive decision before she went to marry Koss had bewildered and marked him hopelessly. And _that_ was the focus of the entire problem, wasn't it? That she went away and then came back again and she acted as if nothing had changed. The reality, however, was that _everything_ had changed.

Standing alone in the middle of the corridor, Trip realized that he had been trying desperately to avoid this fact. And he realized another weird thing too, a shocking change from the last time he had checked T'Pol's console with her: he no longer experienced that intense hatred; he didn't hear those derisive whispers inside his head when he thought about T'Pol. The only sentiment that T'Pol aroused in him now was an uncomfortable compassion. He had been trying to provoke her, to make her realize what she did when she decided to abandon the _Enterprise_-- to wake up her indignation, at least. But any of that was pointless now, because she wasn't the T'Pol he remembered. Maybe she never would be.

That realization hurt him deeply. He remembered that the only argument he'd had with his sister Lizzie was about T'Pol. She had defended her departure against her brother's complaints and opinions. And now that T'Pol, the ideal T'Pol he had carried in his mind, was as dead as his sister.

Trip roamed around the ship, lost in his own despair.

* * *

_T'Pol is observing the map to determine the exact location. She follows the path with her index finger._

"_We could cancel the excursion."_

_Her father's voice sounds sweet and comforting; he can even subdue the dry heat._

"_It was decided long ago." She clears her throat. "Besides, I desire to go."_

"_If you are sure…"_

"_Yes, father, I am."_

"_You know that it's not an immovable date." She can hear him sigh. "Ru'lumu's death is too recent."_

_T'Pol feels a pain flash inside her chest when she remembers her deceased sehlat. She controls it quickly._

"_I know we could plan another outing for any other day, father, but I'm equally aware that your agenda is very demanding. Above all now."_

_He sighs again. She refuses to turn toward him._

"_A post in the Security Ministry is an honor."_

"_Yes, father."_

"_My work is important."_

"_Yes, father."_

"_It helps Vulcan__."_

"_Yes, father."_

_It sounds like a litany; which it is._

"_I know I'm absent almost all the year, but at least your mother is here."_

"_At the Academy, most of the time," she mumbles._

"_T'Pol, she's your mother."_

'_Then she should act like one__,' she thinks. Then she chastised herself. The problem isn't her mother, who acts as any other Vulcan mother, the problem is herself, who is a disgrace as a Vulcan, waiting gestures of affection that are uncalled-for._

"_She cares for you," her father says. He always knows what she's thinking._

"_She blames me for your overwork in the Security Ministry."_

"_Did she say that?"_

"_No, but I know that's her opinion." She clenches her fists. To keep her worries for herself is illogical. "It's my fault. If I were more apt, if I didn't make that mistake at Kal Rekk—" _

"_Stop such nonsense." Her father's interruption sounds like a slash. "__You have no influence in my career or my work. Both your mother and I know this. So, be a good daughter and respect and obey your mother now that I'll be abroad."_

_T'Pol feels an expanding pain that sprouts in her heart and spreads trough her torso._

"_I don't want you to go," she snivels. _

"_I must and you know it, child."_

_She nods compulsively._

"_Do not be made__ uneasy by unbeneficial conjectures," her father says and she can hear his smile in his voice. "This new mission won't last long and when it ends we will make the foretold excursion."_

"_Do you promise?"_

_He puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder._

"_I promise."_

_She feels complete._

T'Pol fidgeted in her meditation. What a childish thing to do, remembering old days. But she was using a technique to blot out any negative thought and if part of that operation demanded her to revise excruciating memories, then she would.

She took a deep breath and got lost in thoughts again.

_The atmosphere is filled with the oppressive politeness typical in a Vulcan gathering. If T'Pol could hate, really hate, she would hate this situation._

"_It is agreeable to see you here," Serok says._

_T'Pol nods to her father-in-law while she pays no regard to his falseness. Her mother-in-law's cold stare tells her everything she wants to know._

"_T'Pol is so professional that she wanted to work instead of coming here," Koss says._

_She wonders if her husband is as naïve as he seems. _

"_You couldn't miss the gathering__ to make public V'Las's appointment," Serok says. _

'_Could? Yes. Should? No.' Above all in her position and even less after talking to her mother._

"_T'Les has decided not to come either, as it seems," Serok points out._

"_My mother was too busy completing a research project."_

"_Dedication to work is a trait in your family," Koss praises._

_T'Pol fights a sudden urge to snort. Koss is always trying to please everybody. He always searches for the right word, but he's so clueless that all his efforts only manage to turn her stomach._

"_Yes, your mother is a renowned instructor," Serok says. "I'm sure you will have an extraordinary career when your trial period concludes."_

'_Trial period.' Euphemism for 'obeying like a slave, doing any degrading job we want and being used as a scapegoat to hide the botched job we did at P'Jem.' T'Pol is getting tired of that situation. The sad part is that she must endure it. It's the only way._

"_Now that we talk about her career," Koss says, "V'Las' appointment will entail new posts. As one of the Ministers, you could talk him into taking T'Pol under his service."_

"_If it were simply up to me, you know I would."_

'_Really? That astonishes me,' T'Pol thinks._

"_Father…"_

"_It is a delicate matter."_

"_T'Pol is highly qualified to be, at least, a top secretary or a deputy director in the Security Ministry," Koss insists. _

"_We don't question her training."_

'_Only her fidelity,' T'Pol adds in her mind. Nobody used to doubt her allegiance before P'Jem, not even herself, but all the actual distrust is making her reconsider. And she isn't the only one. In the middle of the forest of formal robes she can glimpse a very awkward Vulcan. It would be difficult not seeing him: he's unusually portly for their species. She knows his name, somebody told her two months ago: Kov. Although they didn't know each other and they weren't related in any way (except in the sense of having Ministers in the family), the young Vulcan had approached her not long ago and conveyed his apologies for unknown reasons. T'Pol asked him what he regretted, but the only thing he could say before being called by his father was a cryptic comment about a meeting with the Enterprise. She wasn't part of the crew at that time, so she didn't know what his motives were._

_He sees her and makes a shy salute with his head. She answers in the most veiled way possible. He was a __V'tosh ka'tur__, and is technically a pariah after his return; she doesn't need more excuses for her enemies to revile her. She has to avoid inappropriate contacts. _

_She can feel a venomous scrutiny. V'Las is staring at her from the other side of the room. If her position was delicate before, with V'Las as an Administrator it has become even more fragile. _

"_Having T'Pol in a stable post would make easier for us to create a family."_

_Koss's words have the effect of a cold punch against her stomach._

"_Have you considered having a child, then?" Serok asks._

_T'Pol tries her best to not shaking her head no._

"_Not right now," Koss answers, "but it's a real possibility, of course."_

"_Of course," his father concedes._

'_Why is this making me unsettled?' T'Pol wonders. She's a married woman. Being a mother someday is only the logical next step. That's one of the reasons why Vulcans bond, after all. There shouldn't be anything wrong about that. But suddenly T'Pol sees it as a haunting possibility._

_She doesn't like it in the slightest. And thinking that Koss' pon-farr is nearer every day doesn't help._

_Her husband looks at her with his usual face, as if he is seeking her approbation. T'Pol only can sense V'Las' icy stare._

"_The possibility of children is always there," she gives in, trying to please her political family. How ironic that this side she shares with her husband is precisely what drives them apart._

_Koss nods and puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder._

_She feels cold._

T'Pol inhaled and fidgeted one more time. She wasn't going to lose control. She would allow the memories to pass around her and through her and then be forgotten. Or at least, she would counteract their effect.

She would get it with proper meditation.

_The sky is blue, the few clouds floating in it grayish, the sea is turquoise with emerald sparkles, the grass is green flecked with yellow and white flowers and the long bridge is red._

_The Golden Gate._

_T'Pol can catch sight of it from the "Zefram Cochrane's Memorial Garden" where she is. This large green area is one of the few things from Humans that T'Pol considers perfect._

_People come here to walk, to read, to make exercise or simply to breathe some fresh air. Families come here too, to spend the day. T'Pol stares at a child, a girl, who runs in circles around her mother trying to create enough air to move her little pinwheel's blades. _

"_It always surprises me the thousands of ways that Humans have to waste their time."_

_T'Pol almost jumps when she hears Soval's voice. She hadn't felt his presence._

"_As the Vulcan Ambassador on Earth it is not wise to criticize their customs," she says to hide her surprise. _

"_It isn't wise if they hear me, which they didn't"_

"_A rock against a glass will shatter the glass, even if you close your eyes.__"_

"_I see you have been reading Surak's teachings lately," he points out._

_T'Pol tenses._

"_I didn't have much more to do in the Security Ministry. I was there only in name."_

"_That isn't true. I know they had begun to deposit compromising documents in your hands." Soval takes a moment to look at her. "That's why I didn't understand your celerity at accepting my proposition to be my aide again."_

"_You load me with more responsibilities. Besides, I wanted a change of scenery."_

"_Indeed."_

_T'Pol acts as if she hadn't heard the sarcasm in his voice. _

"_At least you will have space to think," Soval says. "I expect you won't get lost with so much of it."_

"_I don't know what you are talking about."_

"_Was I being cryptic?"_

_T'Pol turns to look at him._

"_A rhetorical question," she notices. "You have expended too much time among Humans."_

"_They are quite contagious, don't you think?" You need no more than a few weeks to acquire some of their bad habits. Like avoiding an uncomfortable issue, for example."_

_T'Pol averts her eyes and focuses on the little girl again._

"_You were a perfectly healthy, young, married and proper Vulcan holding an important position, and with the possibility of a future promotion. But then you decide to abandon that life and being the assistant of an eccentric Vulcan Ambassador."_

"_You aren't eccentric__."_

"_Obviously you weren't on the last reunion with the High Command about Paan Mokar."_

"_No, but I read the transcripts," she admits._

_They fall silent. Sounds like laughter, loud conversations, dogs' barking or seagulls' screeches fill the atmosphere._

"_Why are you here?" Soval insists._

"_Because you asked me."_

"_But why did you say yes?"_

"_Because it was the right time."_

_T'Pol has never been so sincere. Soval can't know (although perhaps he suspects it), but he saved her life._

"_Your life was on Vulcan. Your husband is still there."_

"_His work is there," she explains. "It is only logical for him to stay."_

"_It is only logical for a young married woman to be near her husband to facilitate the bond's formation."_

_He has no idea of the pains she took to try to achieve it._

"_I've spent the required__ year with him," she mumbles._

"_And you have been quick not to expend much more time than that."_

_T'Pol grits her teeth. _

"_Your point, Ambassador?"_

_Going on with the interrogation would be inappropriate. T'Pol knows it and Soval too. He is obviously worried for her, but he is also Vulcan. Privacy and decorum are the basis of their society._

"_The High Command is annoyed by your behavior."_

"_The High Command has never supported any of my actions," T'Pol reminds him._

"_You aren't the only one that may be affected by them."_

"_My mother knows how to look after herself."_

"_And your husband?"_

"_His father is a Minister__."_

"_And your future family? Your children?"_

"_I don't have them."_

"_But you will."_

_T'Pol feels nauseated. "Not right now," she answers. "I'll have to leave my work to take care of them and I'm not ready to do it right now. I'm young."_

"_It isn't necessary__ to resign to have children," Soval says. There is a surprised tinge in his voice. "You can pursuit a professional career and raise a family. Many females do it. Your mother did."_

"_She's _all_ the example I need."_

_Even she can hear the bitterness in her tone. She says no more. She doesn't justify herself. She doesn't make an excuse. She doesn't try to conceal the real meaning of her words. She just watches the Human girl playing with her mother._

_Suddenly Soval puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder._

_She feels empty._

T'Pol opened her eyes and swallowed a resigned sigh.

What was the purpose of this meditation? She was trying to ease her inner tension and she had ended more unsettled than before. She obviously knew that it wasn't the meditation's fault, but her own. It didn't help a bit anyway.

She took her hand out of the robes' tent that covered her and extinguished the flame. The cold atmosphere made her shiver. She wanted to believe the Captain's words and trust that Maintenance had more important repairs, but she was more convinced day by day that it was something to do with her being Vulcan. It was stupid, childish and irrational.

Typical Human behavior.

As every night before, she got up and went to the Mess Hall. As every night before, Commander Tucker was there. T'Pol clenched her jaw. Maybe if Archer saw this he would be convinced that his friend had a problem. She ordered her hot mint tea almost bitterly. She was tired of pointing out things and being ignored. She remembered a very ancient Earth story about a girl named Cassandra cursed by a god with the gift of foreseeing the future. She remembered how the story ended.

When she headed for the farthest table, Commander Tucker spoke aloud:

"You aren't still upset about me repairing the console without your assistance, are you?"

Although there was no need for it, she looked at him. 20 meters, 4 tables and a universe away his face showed a worried expression.

"I'm not, in any way, _upset_, Commander."

"Yeah… riiiight… You don't sound very convincing."

T'Pol could sense the mug's warm on her fingers, the muffled sound of the engines in her ears and her own exasperation building up inside her head.

"I assure you, my state of mind is the usual."

"If it is pissed off, I agree."

T'Pol began to be a little irritated in that moment.

"I don't have time nor desire to talk about my mood with you, Commander."

"Don't… Don't get mad, Lieutenant Commander." Trip rubbed a side of his neck with his palm. He was visibly distressed. "Look, I only wanted to tell you that I'm… I'm… If what I did offended you it wasn't on purpose. I didn't want to upset you."

T'Pol doubted for a few seconds, but in the end she opted to approach him and to sit down at his table. A regretful Commander Tucker was a novelty.

"As I've told you before, I'm not upset."

"I didn't mean to offend you."

"None taken."

"Really?"

"Really."

He was acting like a child needed of reaffirmation. She experienced a flashback of their last time together, just before she went to marry Koss, when she felt the walls of her world crumbling on her and he seemed the only sentient being to care.

T'Pol shook her head to physically move those painful memories away.

"You know, I was totally out of place. I didn't want to make your stay here more difficult," he repeated.

"Difficult?"

"Yes, I didn't want to act like the others…"

"I beg your pardon?"

"C'mon, don't play ignorant now."

T'Pol was totally lost. She didn't think the crew was treating her differently as what they did before her departure. He, on the other hand, was acting very differently, and she wasn't sure _why_.

"Commander, for the last time, I'm not upset. I appreciate your apology for ignoring my assistance, but I'm used to this behavior lately."

Trip squinted an eye and opened his mouth as if he was about to reply. Then he shut it up again and narrowed his eyes. At last he rubbed his face.

"I don't understand you, T'Pol. I really don't. When I think I'm about to know at least a part of you, you do something that muddles me up completely. You're like… like… like a micro-singularity, that's it."

"What do you know about them?" T'Pol was aware that she sounded harsh, but the studying of micro-singularities was one of her areas of expertise when she had a life as a scientist. She didn't want to remember how much she had lost.

"I know more about them than what you think," Trip said, just as harshly. "Since we discovered one of them I've been reading all the research papers I've could."

She needed a few seconds to digest that information. It wasn't possible.

"Obviously you… _I_ have misunderstood your words. What did you say you discovered?"

"A micro-singularity."

"I'm sure you are mistaken."

Hundred of Vulcans had tried to prove their existence. A Human couldn't do it. It would be an embarrassment.

"I have a Masters in Aerospace Engineering besides my PhD in Mechanical Engineering, you know?" Trip said. His vexation feeling was growing.

She should let it go, but it was stronger than her. "Nobody has proved their existence."

"Well, we were about to."

Ah, that was an interesting nuance. "About to? It's not the same as actually doing something."

Trip made a face. "It happened when Malcolm and I were trapped in Shuttlepod One. _Enterprise_ processed some interesting data that could only be explained by the existence of micro-singularities, but Muroc didn't attach importance to it.

No, of course not. Although Muroc's specialty was Quantum Electrodynamics he didn't have the slightest interest in "silly space legends," as he used to call them.

"So you didn't discover a micro-singularity," T'Pol said. She was disappointed.

"Technically speaking no, but we have data that could support that theory. You can analyze it, if you want."

T'Pol tried not to blink. He was offering her the chance to resume what it had been her scientific career. It was too good to be true. In fact, she couldn't believe it. "I will inspect it, although I'm sure you're mistaken."

"I'm not an ignoramus."

Great, she had offended him again. This time, however, it wasn't her intention.

"You are Human, you don't have as much knowledge of space as we Vulcans have. Maybe we Vulcans _have_ an explanation for what you saw that it doesn't involve micro-singularities."

"It would be wonderful if Vulcans _shared_ their information."

The typical accusation.

"You can see our advances in the investigation of micro-singularities, Commander. It's not top-secret."

"I asked Muroc to let me have a look at Vulcan's theories and he refused."

If he did, he was just plain stupid, and much more xenophobic than she thought.

"He said I wouldn't understand them."

There was something that didn't fit. "But you have said that you have read all the research papers you could about micro-singularities."

Trip averted his gaze for what looked like shame.

"Oh, that… I-I asked Hoshi to get them."

"She _stole_ them?" That was highly out of character for Ensign Sato.

"No, no… She asked Muroc and he gave them to her."

Now T'Pol could see the complete picture.

"Because she knows Vulcan," she deduced. "He didn't hand them to you because you wouldn't understand the language in which they were written, not because you wouldn't understand the scientific meaning."

"And why on the world didn't he say that?"

"Because Muroc shares your obdurate tendency of assuming and not telling. It is a universal trait in males, as it seems."

Those words escaped her lips before she could prevent it.

Trip lowered his head. His shoulders began to tremble, he gripped the table hard, and just when she thought he was going to yell, she heard the characteristic sound of low laughter.

"I'm sorry…" he burbled.

"Did I say something funny, Commander?"

"No." He let a guffaw escape. "It isn't that. Well, maybe it is… I haven't heard you answer back like this in a long time."

"Have I been offensive?" She was puzzled.

"Not at all. You didn't sound angry or disgusted… You sounded like the old T'Pol." He raised his head again to look at her. "I missed it. I missed your comebacks."

"I haven't changed my behavior, I'm the same person I ever was," she said, defending herself a little haughtily. It was all an act, of course. She knew everything had changed.

He smiled.

The world stopped.

It was the first time since her return that she'd seen it: Trip's real smile. He'd smiled, of course, but it had been bitter and fake, more a self-defense system than anything else. This smile, however, _was_ his authentic beam, the one that reached his eyes and made him almost glow from inside. That smile took her back to the times when everything was right with the universe, when they explored space and the word "hope" still had any meaning. That smile gave her back the genuine Trip.

And for a moment T'Pol felt so relieved that she nearly sighed.

"What?" he asked, changing his happy face for a worried scowl.

T'Pol wanted to ask him to smile again and make her believe that a new world was possible, but she was Vulcan and she had pride, so she didn't utter a word.

Trip was staring at her. His concern drew lines on either side of his mouth and sank his eyes into their bags. His fatigue wasn't just apparent, it was flashing a big neon sign.

"You should rest, Commander." As soon as she said those words she was aware of how old they tasted, like stale bread, and how little effect they were going to have.

"I'm not tired."

He yawned.

"I see," she said ironically. "Even if you don't have the desire to sleep, you should be in bed and in this way facilitating the sleeping process."

"What are you, a doctor?"

"It's merely advice."

"From somebody who isn't an expert, given the circumstances."

T'Pol swallowed her reply. She could argue, but… what for? That would either upset him or, possibly worse, make her believe that everything could be the same as it was before.

"You can argue, you know," Trip said, his voice changing from annoyed to conciliating. "We're not going to get mad and throw you out the ship. Not for that, anyway."

"I would have to be listened to in order to upset anyone," she grumbled before she could control herself. Fatigue was affecting her too.

"What do you mean?"

"You have been ignoring all my complaints and requests about the malfunctioning sensor."

He sighed long and loud. "Just because I don't agree with you it doesn't mean I didn't bear what you said in mind. I simply believe you are wrong. You don't have to be right every time, you know."

But yes, she had to, because that was her work. If she failed in her task, what was she?

"You could let me investigate my theory."

"I didn't ban you from doing it."

"You weren't very cooperative. You didn't even provide me with some of your crewmen to search the ship."

The Commander gaped. He seemed genuinely astonished. "You don't believe I could accept something like that…"

"Why not?"

"We checked your console and the exterior sensors manually. Everything was all right."

"But you could check the power grid."

"Of the entire ship? I have no time."

"Then you should have let me do it."

"T'Pol, I've demonstrated to you that those two times when there has been an incoherence between the real sensor readings and what your console showed, a electromagnetic field was involved. Do you think that's sheer coincidence?"

But T'Pol wasn't arguing about that. It wasn't important anymore. There was something more alarming. Why didn't he collaborate with her? She was the Science Officer. She had more experience than the entire ship. How could he ignore her? How could he be so resentful? "I understand your theory, Commander. What I was questioning was your decision to not assigning me some crewmembers to investigate my hypothesis."

"As I've told you, I didn't have time."

"I wasn't asking for your personal cooperation. I didn't even need your men. I only needed access to the hardware. I could form a group with members of the Scientific team and lead it myself."

Trip snorted.

"Do you doubt my ability?" she asked. She felt a little offended against all logic.

"No… No, no, it isn't that, but you obviously must know it isn't the best idea."

"Why not?"

"Well, you know how you are… I mean…" He sighed. It was becoming a habit. "Our crew is very busy right now. After the Xindi attack they are on edge. They don't need more pressure on them."

"I can't comprehend how a search would increase their stress levels."

"You are very demanding, T'Pol. You would have expected 24/7 dedication from them. You would have checked the ship not only once, but twice and even thrice. You would have questioned every piece of data they collected and you would have been surprised when they complained about your behavior."

"Of course, why would they?"

Trip stared at T'Pol with what she thought of as "the patronizing gaze".

"I don't want to sound offensive, but you aren't very nice, T'Pol. Humans need a little encouragement from time to time." He cracked a small smile. "You need to be softer to get on well with the crew."

"I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to help you against the Xindi." She felt a sudden burst of frustration that she quickly controlled. She was tired of disputing with an irrationally obtuse Commander Tucker. He didn't know how much she had had to sacrifice to be there. He didn't have any idea.

Incapable of any more argument, T'Pol got up and, after nodding a goodbye, she headed for the exit door.

She knew he was going to call her before he actually did it, because that's how their relationship worked. "T'Pol."

She turned round, more for habit than anything else. Their relationship seemed to be built on misunderstandings and last-minute amendments.

"I… Thank you," he whispered. "For… being here. For… helping us." His gaze exuded an exhausted sadness. "I'm glad that you're here. Honest."

Expressing gratitude was an Earth custom, but it was a nice custom nevertheless.

"Get some sleep, Commander," she answered as a definitive farewell and resumed her way.

She didn't know where to go exactly, so she just kept walking. When she decided to left the _Enterprise_ and marry Koss, she felt her world becoming smaller and smaller, but she never doubted her obligation, her path. Now, for the first time, T'Pol doubted her path in life.

* * *

Malcolm hated when the only thing he could do was wait.

He was cautious, yes, of course, and he was aware that those thermobaric clouds were thick and long and that there was no good reason to go faster, but he had been waiting for the crossing into the Expanse for _six_ hours now.

The turbolift's door slid open and Trip appeared with his professional air, the one that made him look half sad and half somber.

"We launched the communications buoy, sir. We got a test signal through to Starfleet," he announced.

"Keep them apprised of our position," the Captain ordered Hoshi.

She complied. While she did it, a low alarm rang on T'Pol's console. Her face showed a slight perplexity and she turned to the visual scan.

"Got something?" the Captain asked, intrigued.

"Yes."

"Probably the buoy," Trip said.

"Not unless you launched three of them."

The entire bridge crew stared at her. T'Pol making what looked like an open joke was unusual since her return. No, more than that: it was incredible. Trip showed an amusing smile and Malcolm was sure he was going to make a reply, but enemy fire interrupted.

Malcolm straightened up into professional soldier mode and prepared himself for battle against the sudden adversary.

Who turned to be Duras and his Klingon fleet.

Some people don't know when to give up.

Unfortunately for them, this time Duras had learned his lesson and pursued them with all his power transferred to his forward shields. He was like a desperate bloodhound. He would do anything to prevent them entering the Expanse. However, he hailed them and tried to offer the customary "unconditional rendition request." In an action that Malcolm almost applauded, the Captain told him to go to Hell.

The downside of such bravado is that it doesn't impress enemies much when they have more weapons.

So they only option was to run.

"The Expanse is less than five minutes away," T'Pol said. How she could maintain that calm façade was something Malcolm always wondered.

"Maybe he'll turn around like his friends," said Trip, the eternal optimistic.

"I won't bet on it," the Captain answered.

Malcolm agreed with him. Duras was persistent. Especially now that he seemed so close to victory. Yet another explosion shook the _Enterprise_.

"If he's transferred his shielding forward, what's protecting his stern?" the Captain asked suddenly.

"Does it matter? He's chasing us," Trip complained.

"What's protecting his stern?" Archer insisted.

"Minimal shielding," T'Pol provided.

"Think you can pull off an L4 at this speed?" the Captain asked Masaro.

The Helmsman cracked a little cocky smile. "Sure thing."

Even in the middle of the battle Malcolm made a face. Masaro's self-confidence was revolting.

"Then look for the densest cloud formation you can find. _Captain Archer to all hands, hold on!_"

Oh, why did they have to make a fancy loop in a moment like this? Malcolm's stomach was delicate.

"There it is," Masaro said pointing a big black cloud ahead them.

Before listening to the Captain's confirmation, the Helmsman completed the maneuver and put the ship just at Dura's stern.

"Fire!" Arched shouted.

Malcolm was glad to comply and two torpedoes blew the bird of prey apart. There was something almost soothing in the sight of that ship ablaze.

The bridge crew, with T'Pol's exception, sighed as one.

"Nice save, Masaro," the Captain praised.

"Thank you, sir, it was fun."

Malcolm felt the sudden urge to erase his smile with a slap.

"The Expanse is ahead, Captain," Hoshi informed them. She seemed calmer than he had expected. Apparently the previous two years had hardened her.

Archer nodded and took some steps around the bridge.

"Did you lose any more of those injectors?" he asked Trip.

"No, sir. We're good to go."

Archer nodded again and took some steps more toward the view screen. Then he turned to T'Pol, as if he wasn't ready yet to gaze at the unknown Expanse.

"Sure you still want to tag along?" he asked the Vulcan.

T'Pol spent a few seconds to consider her reply. She looked at Trip, then at the Captain.

"It's only logical," she answered at last.

Archer smiled and turned round. There it was: the Expanse. It didn't seem dangerous, or mythical, just a typical starfield. Nevertheless, it drew their attention like a magnet attracting iron.

Malcolm left his contemplation to throw Trip a quick glance. He wasn't looking at the Expanse, like the others. He was staring at T'Pol.

He had the face of a mountain climber in front of an impossible peak.

**To be continued...**


End file.
